#nic's fics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeminvore · 4 months ago

Text

room(hate) | L.JN (M) — part II

SYNOPSIS: all you wanted was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital. All you needed was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital, but even that was considered a luxury in these trying times. A luxury blatantly stolen by your roommate, Jeno Lee, who seemed to have an endless line of bodies to fuck preventing you from getting at least an hour of shut eye. It was annoying. It was disrupting and you seriously hoped that Jeno's dick falls off one day.

PART II SUMMARY: so, you’ve slept with your roommate in spite of everything. What happens now?

PART I | PART II (you are here)

[AO3 link]

GENRE: roommate au, non-idol au, slice of life-ish, unrequited hate, roommates with benefits, domesticity, porn with plot, fluff, comedy, crack treated seriously.

WORD COUNT: 31.1K out of 50K

NOTE: ever love someone so much that you pumped out a 50K long two-parter fic? yeah me neither LMAO anyways… this has been a loooong long time coming and I’m just really glad I’ve seen through the end of this fic that has been in the works for more than a year now? My sincerest thanks goes to those who have been patiently waiting bc I wasn’t patient and wanted to finish this so bad but life had suddenly gotten in the way that it took so much of my time 😭 anywho, you might want to grab a snack and/or drink bc this one is loooong long! Lemme know what you think <3 likes and reblogs are much appreciated !

If you're tuning in from part I of room(hate), the long awaited continuation is here! And if you're new and seeing this, I highly suggest jumping to part I to have more context! It's a great read, entertaining even, I promise 🤞🏼

CONTENT WARNINGS: egregious use of the em dash and the comma, pregnancy mentioned (but no one is pregnant lol), feelings realization. sooo so much feelings it’s kinda dramatic really. Miscommunication (haha-funny kind). Jeno being the sweetest guy it’ll give you cavities I think. Idiot being idiots but they’re in love, so. [smut warnings underneath the cut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

SMUT WARNINGS: (some of the sex scenes aren't as graphic btw) car sex, mild exhibitionism, Jeno has a thing for glasses, face-fucking, couch sex, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex (PLEASE practice safe-sex unlike these two), MC cries during sex at some point (overwhelmed).

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken." — The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis

"There are times when my longing for you overwhelms me, so often I can think of you only with teeth clenched." — Franz Kafka

"I look out the window longingly. I was never this type. All along, I had it together" ... "It's annoying. Barely had any sleep but. Just pretending to be strong" — Crazy by Jinnie.

IV.

“Call it what you want it, darling.”

You were operating under a time crunch, but God forbid you’d pass this up.

“What happened to sex being a one-time thing?”

“Really? You say this now after the many times we’ve fucked so far?”

Jeno wrinkled his nose. “Could you be less crass?”

You rolled your eyes, held his face and kissed him, barely giving him any time to adjust the driver’s seat.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but when you were cursed with the knowledge of having what was essentially the human form of sexual relief residing just across your room—yeah, one could already tell where this was going.

Likewise, Jeno was just as willing as you were in seeking out for any form of release which really didn’t help your case at all. There were a handful of alternatives out there, let’s say, Pilates, when taking into consideration the numerous benefits your roommate had achieved from the consistent gym visits to dead-lift double (maybe even triple?) his body weight. But was it really worth the couple bucks you’d be spending—much less the extra energy and travel time—if you signed up for classes when you could get the same results from getting railed until you forgot what set you off at work?

Probably not.

Definitely not.

Fool you once, shame on him. Fool you twice, shame on you. Fool you thrice… well, you weren't a stranger to being shamed for the bad decisions you’ve made thus far. Fucking around with the same guy your complaints revolved around was a different ballpark, however, and the thought should have humbled you. Stopped you, even.

Really, it should have.

Though it became crystal clear that your intentions made a gradual shift when ‘this is the last time I’m letting you fuck me’ had gotten demoted to merely a thing you’d say to cancel out your conscious choice of falling into Jeno’s arms again. Defending yourself was as useless as a broken umbrella doing fuck all but shield you from the pelts of rain, and it was especially useless when getting pelted by Jeno’s thick load was just another Tuesday for you.

There was no point in it now when you’re about to ride the guy in his own car parked in the most secluded part of the hospital’s parking lot.

“Fuck,” you hissed, lowering yourself onto his cock. “You’re too fucking big, I swear. Dick so big and for what?” you said like it was the biggest inconvenience you’ve ever encountered in your life.

“You say this every time,” Jeno laughed, breathless, and pleased by the looks of it before his face scrunched up the moment the meat of your ass pressed down onto his thighs, moaning quietly at the tight squeeze of your pussy. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

With his obscenely large size? It’s a miracle you hadn’t split into two through a fucked mitosis process, actually. “Do you really want an anatomy lesson until you go soft?” you ground out. “Or would you rather get fucked before I clock into work?”

“Mm, I think you know what I want.”

He was looking up at you with a deceptively sweet smile. Leering, if anything, with pupils blown out so wide that they were as dark as the cup of coffee that waited for you every morning without fail.

Jeno’s eyes were one thing. Usually soft and contrasting the hard angles that make up the handsome face haunting both your dreams and more so your reality. There were no traces of the gentleness you were acquainted with as his heavy gaze raked over you, trying to peel away the soft cotton covering your skin with it alone. The mean grip he had on your hips was enough to tell you how badly he wanted this.

And you knew it was bad when you were actually looking forward to whatever Jeno’s cooking up in the more depraved parts of his brain.

A creature of habit is what you were. Staying true to a routine you’ve aged with was what you preferred, and sticking close to what you knew had less consequences to deal with in the long run. Change to you had always been a daunting idea right from when you moved to this city for your father’s job at the tender age of six and up until you shared a living space with anyone that wasn’t Mark Lee. So it really came as a shock that adapting to this arrangement with Jeno had been quick and painless.

Then again, you supposed the benefits greatly outweighed the very grievance of it being with Jeno helped. Shutting him up has been the easiest it’s ever been, for example, especially when you took the reins. Sometimes.

“That was our best one yet, don’t you think?” Jeno said once both of you recovered enough brain cells to hold an actual conversation. Unsurprisingly, he fared better than you did, insane stamina and all, though the second you picked up the barest smugness leaking from what Jeno probably thought was an unassuming sentence, you sobered up in record speed and almost smashed your skulls together when sitting up straight to scowl.

“Is it because we’re in your car? ‘That enough to stroke your ego?”

Jeno raised a manicured eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who jumped me?”

Well, yes, but being reminded of your oversight was so unnecessary.

“Get out of me,” you took a deep breath and let it out, “right now.”

Although he pulled out without any follow up witticism, you did clock the satisfied stretch of his lips, Jeno chuckling when you gave his arm a light swat. You tried not to react much towards the emptiness as he carefully removed the filled condom, tied it up and threw it into the small waste bin stuck in the driver’s side’s door pocket. Cleaning the interior of his car sounded like a great bonding activity.

Just like how the joint effort of cleaning each other up in silence was. Wet wipes swiping here and there, you even made Jeno swear up and down that no marks were left on visible places, but it’s whatever. With how things were lined up today, everyone will be too busy with their own agenda instead of debating whether or not one of you got some that morning.

That’s what you hoped for at least. You never knew with your coworkers, honestly. They were like vultures when it came to gossip, so you’ll have to rely on your few lucky stars that they won't smell it on you.

Then again, would it really be that big of a deal? People changed their minds—like, all the time, and it wasn’t like treason was being committed canoodling with the person you had once hailed as the villain of your story. Sex was simply another thing added to normalcy, going at it like horny teenagers on nights where you should have been catching up on sleep. Which was like, most nights—if you had to be truthful—that condoms had to be strictly implemented despite your consistent ingestion of birth control. Anything to prevent unwanted miracles.

(Jeno’s hand that held the whiteboard eraser immediately shot out to shamelessly erase the word ‘condoms’ from the grocery staples list.

“I may be a slut, but I take safety very seriously,” Jeno insisted, pouting when you still wouldn’t budge, hip checking him to re-write ‘condoms’. “I get tested, like, every week. I’m as clean as a celibate!”

“Hearing ‘celibate’ coming out of your mouth just sounds so wrong.” But you’d still give him his flowers for exercising caution for both his and your health. You smacked his hand away. Half for another attempt at erasing the word ‘condoms’ and half for reminding you of his wide pool of sexual partners. “We’re still stocking up on condoms.”

‘Lube’ was also scrawled underneath. Better safe than sorry and you would like to avoid any sexual mishaps if you could).

Jeno never asked questions. Never became a point of conversation when you had unanimously claimed one side of his bed for yourself. When it was where you ended up on a frequent basis, you supposed it was way past being questioned, but accepted, that you were beginning to forget what your own bedroom looked like besides your closet and desk. Like the more you veered away from the comfort of your own room, the more you got to find out just what made Jeno tick and how much of a freak he actually was.

You’ve come to find out that prescription glasses in particular could rile him up. Tried and tested by accident.

When you had taken your attention away from your iPad and honed it towards the direction of Jeno's sharp intake of breath, you found him staring at you from where he stood underneath the awning, pink-cheeked and mouth slightly agape with his windbreaker half-way off. A disheveled version of him; a frequent result of coming back from a two to three-hour long gym session, minus the blatant ogling. Seriously, why was he looking at you like that?

You tilted your head in question, eye-glasses sliding down your nose. Jeno made a wounded noise and stumbled his way closer, almost tripping over his discarded shoes.

You narrowed your eyes at the urgency in his movements. “…what is it?”

“Glasses,” Jeno said in a way like it was punched out of him, “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Oh, these?” Your knuckle pushed them back up into place and for some reason, this caused Jeno to bump into the side table with an aborted curse. “Probably because I don’t wear them often? I wear contacts, but they get uncomfortable for a while. I could get my eyes fixed with LASIK—or something else invasive, but I have this irrational fear of getting it so… I’m stuck with these.” You explained, ending it on a coy note as you fluttered your eyelashes for shits and giggles then followed up with: “I think I look cute. Don’t you think so?”

Oh, Jeno for sure thought so. More than he should, actually, or else he wouldn’t have ended up jerking off right in front of your face. On top of you, rather.

They were the very last thing you’d think would grant you an exclusive straight out of a porno, but this was Jeno. A kink that involved you wearing glasses was probably just the tip of the iceberg concerning Jeno’s lore, and that wasn’t to say that the absolute desperation to make himself cum was any less hot. To add on that sentiment, you have never expected being used—somewhat—would be this enticing either.

Or maybe it was just Jeno and the way he made everything he did ten times more appealing for what it actually was. As one does when you’re that hot, unfortunately.

Either way, Jeno managed to tote around this artful carefulness with him even in this unhingedly horny and desperate state, making sure you were comfortable and that he wasn’t crushing you with his weight. He sat on his haunches, muscular thighs on either side of your torso to keep himself upright while tugging on his cock. And to further solidify the perfect picture of desperation he posed for, he had his dri-fit shirt rucked up high enough to sit under his armpits while biting down onto the bottom hem, tampering down most of the noises he made and exposing the milky, dewy flushed skin.

That quickly became useless the moment you thought to help him out a little; nails lightly scratching down the outrageous rack of abs just to feel him twitch underneath the pads of your fingers. The whine that followed was add bonus. Flicking your tongue against the underside of his cockhead to hear his guttural moan and letting the cloth fall from his wet mouth, his legs squeezing you until the shallow rutting of his cock in and out of the heat past your parted lips made him cum. Some of it pooling onto your tongue and the rest of it lewdly marking your face in white.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “you got cum on my glasses.”

“‘M sorry,” Jeno murmured, hastily reaching for the box of tissues. It was easier to breathe, now that he was off your chest and in between your thighs. Jeno in general made it hard to breathe sometimes, but he also knew how to ease you from it. “Sorry. I’ll clean them for you.”

You hummed your appreciation, one hand running through his hair that’s due for a cut soon and smiling when Jeno pushed himself higher to kiss you. Like he couldn’t help himself with how urgent it felt that you could taste the salty muskiness of his release, your tongue sliding against his.

The thought of getting off yourself was forgotten in the midst of the torrid kissing you were subjected to, completely content with being smothered by Jeno until he offered. Wanting to return the favor, and that’s another thing you’ve come to find out about him. Jeno liked giving more than the average male would. A giver and always eager to please. At least that’s what you thought, or it was simply a Jeno-exclusive thing.

Then again, were you really going to complain when that’s all Jeno wanted to do?

Evident in the way he clambered over you, pushing you into the plush confines of the couch that had seen way too many things to the point you had conned Jeno into getting it steamed cleaned at his expense. Thick fingers worked their magic, sinking deep into your sopping cunt, the squelching sounds becoming nastier than the last as Jeno swallowed every noise you made with each kiss.

“You’re crazy,” you said, breathless and staring in wonder when Jeno seemed just as blissed out as you felt, your thumb gently swiping over his lips. You were so deep in the troughs of post-orgasmic bliss that you didn’t have the heart to push him off of you. “Insane.”

Jeno laughed, soft and sweet, his eyes turning into gentle crescent moons, pressing a kiss to the pad of your thumb. “Thirty percent crazy to your seventy percent. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kissed you again. “You make me crazy.”

That’s fair. You were aware of your own bouts of insanity when in a rush and you supposed the frantic pitter-pat of your heart was one of the handful of quirks that came with it.

“...right?”

You blinked back into present time, finding yourself still perched on his lap, but a lot more decent compared to when you were getting your morning fill of everything Jeno and completely missing what he just said.

“Say that again?”

Jeno’s pout didn’t last for long—though long enough that you fought the urge to coo—gazing up at you with big, almost wet eyes.

“This,” he stressed, gesturing half-heartedly between you, “It’s good, right?”

The sex? Well, yes, though ‘good’ was severely underselling it. Jeno knew that. You knew that. What you didn’t know was why he was bringing up the unspoken arrangement you decidedly have now and questioning whether it was adequate or not.

“Good as in..?” you trailed off, leaving an open for him to latch on and speak.

Jeno's lips flattened into a thin line with his gaze straying to the side.

You let out a puff of breath. Cute. “C’mon, Jen,” you said almost in a crooning manner, tipping his chin up with a brush of your fingers so he would look at you. “Work with me here.”

“Good as in—I wouldn’t mind if we become exclusive,” Jeno said, shy and making an effort to keep the eye-contact, but as soon as the pink dusted the tips of his ears, the faded graphic on your T-shirt became the most interesting thing to him.

Exclusive fuck buddies? Not a terrible proposition, you might say, and it wasn’t like you had people lined up like he did, so that left you with very limited options. Option being limited to the lone man acting as your seat and currently trying his very best to not look too eager while you internally weighed your options.

One less thing to be dealt with if you’d say ‘yes’ would be the loud noises that had disturbed your night. Instead, the noises would be coming from both you and Jeno which was already the reality anyway as he hadn’t brought anyone home for a while now. Why would he when he had you? So the answer was pretty obvious, you told him, which granted you an oddly ecstatic Jeno; capturing your lips in a quick but searing kiss the moment you made your decision explicit before you rushed out of the car when you caught sight of the time on your smart watch.

The TL;DR version of it was, ever since the coffee table incident, things have been relatively smooth sailing. It’s been an easy ride with Jeno. The roommate thing, sex and even more sex.

It had gotten to the point where your peers could tell that something was up, too.

Nothing too drastic to write home about. At least that was what you thought as the change was evident enough to some, where passing comments—mostly directed towards how you appeared more well-rested than what they were used to seeing—also took a slot in what to expect from days to come post getting dicked down by your roommate. How your mood had drastically improved that smiling had been at its easiest no matter the grueling working conditions, which was completely mutually exclusive to you sleeping like a baby, by the way.

That’s what you liked to tell yourself. You know, like the awful liar you were.

“You’re also glowing,” Yizhuo added more to the pile of observations while flipping through a chart, then froze to stare at you in alarm. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No. I am not with child—don’t you have to play nurse elsewhere?”

She scanned the chart with a hum. “Not until one-thirty.”

“No need to be defensive. We all know having children is the last thing on your mind right now,” Renjun chuckled, slowly spinning on an office chair he had claimed for the day. He stopped, narrowing his eyes towards your direction in appraisal and a smidge teasing. “But for real though, you’re looking good lately. Less tense, Less stressed—no gray hair in sight—and like Yizhuo said, glowing.” He shrugged. “It’s just nice to see our headstrong nurse finally living her life outside of the hospital.”

You winced. “You make it sound like I’m a workaholic.”

“Who says you aren’t?” Renjun smiled sweetly—disarmingly, because he knew the advantage of having a pretty face. You’re less likely to get pissed off with what left his mouth whenever he did that. “What’s changed?”

You lift a shoulder to shrug. “I dunno. I’m getting laid on the regular—yeah, surprising. I know—I’ve been catching up on sleep. Life’s… good right now.”

As good as it could be, and it’s more than you could ask for, really.

“You’re ‘getting laid on the regular’?” A new voice chimed in. “I just saw pigs fly.”

Renjun threw his head back from a belly-deep laugh as a vein pulsed on your temple.

“Can I have one day—one day—without you pissing me off?”

“No can do.” There was a smile on the newcomer's face. A smile equal parts charming and grating as the current bane of your existence sauntered over with the edge of his clipboard resting on one of his broad shoulders. “So who’s the poor piece of meat stuck with you until you spit ‘em out?”

That caught your coworkers’ attention again.

“Is it someone we know?” Yizhuo pushed, with Renjun honing in as both leaned in closer, expectant.

Eh… kind of? Jeno had been an on-and-off issue you had whinged about when someone cared enough to listen. There’s this distant image of him you’ve placed in their heads that would, for the most part, make it easier for them to sympathize why his promiscuous nature was such a problem for you. And they did, considering it wasn’t a difficult choice when they were also your friends outside of work.

Coming clean with the damning fact that you slept with the very same man that had made a portion of your life hell was completely off the table. You’d never hear the end of it and public shaming wasn’t really your thing.

Sungchan, to your dismay, was a little different, delighted that you kept your mouth shut rather than providing anyone the inside scoop of a train wreck you called your life.

If there was one nurse that could take your Nurse of The Month spot, it was fellow nurse Sungchan “Channie” Jung. With impeccable bedside manner and an endearing megawatt smile, he was considered an angel and was notoriously loved by many patients who had had their hand in luck being tended by him. It wouldn’t even be a surprise if there were only good things said about him on RateMyNurses.com.

That’s what public opinion hailed him as, but to you, he was simply Sungchan—a nurse a year your junior who had somehow managed to weld himself to your side back when he was still an intern; your personal annoyance, and a hundred times worse when it came to sticking his nose into someone else’s business for his entertainment.

You rolled your eyes when he closed the distance and slung a toned arm around your shoulders with a smile far too bright for anyone to have at this time of day.

“Mind if I steal her for a bit?"

“You slept with Jeno, didn’t you?”

“What?” You exclaimed, almost breathless as you sputtered a laugh that was neither convincing to you nor to your current interrogator. Still, you might as well try and hope that God was on your side today. “In what world would I fuck the guy I don’t like?”

Sungchan, who had been pacing back-and-forth with a gait that distantly reminded you of a harrowed father coming to terms that his only daughter got knocked up, stopped dead in his tracks right in front of you, staring you down with doe eyes lacking their usual friendly sheen.

You grew more uncomfortable the longer he looked at you. “What.”

His a-hundred-and-eighty-something tall self leaned in to get a good whiff of you, face screwing up in distaste. “You reek of sex,” he supplied before you could even ask what the fuck was that about. “You smell like a man. You smell like Jeno—did you guys fuck before clocking in?”

“Quit it! What the hell.” You pushed his face away. You were sure the scrubs that you washed all to hell would mask the evidence of your morning rendezvous. “How do you even know what Jeno smells like?” You were pretty sure Jeno wasn’t the only man who douses himself in Ferrari Light Essence whenever he leaves for an errand or two.

Sungchan arched an eyebrow. “So you did, then.”

“Answer the question.”

“I’ve been to your apartment,” Sungchan answered with a shrug, which directly translated to ‘I’ve snooped around. You can’t fool me. I know all’. “He’s used up, like, half of his Ferrari Light Essence. The one on his drawers,” he explained with an almost detached cadence, like he was simply talking about today’s weather.

You frowned. “That’s an invasion of privacy,” you hissed, but Sungchan barely looked chastised by that, something your eye twitched at. “And it could be one of the residents too. Not just him.”

“Yeah, no—see, it’s basic deduction,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that even an idiot could get on with the program far above their pay grade. “I ruled out you sleeping with our superiors—or any of the hospital staff involved. You have too much self-respect for that. Not sure where it ends if your roommate’s involved, but he’s your safest bet, and you wouldn’t have to see Jeno at work either. So, less of a distraction. Also, there’s always this weird tension between you and him. Every time Jeno walks into the room, you either look like you want to kill or jump him, and we both know which choice you’ve made.”

You puffed out your cheeks with a forlorn pout. Damn it. He’s good.

“I don’t know, Chenle could be an exception,” you argued anyway, maybe a smidge petulant and just because it was fact a year or two ago when you were taken by his easy-going attitude and his penchant for taking care of anyone around him. Until you realized the trauma surgeon-in-training was better off as a friend when he couldn’t pick up any of your hints. You still thought he had killer cheekbones, though, and there was no shame in ogling every one in a while.

“You forgot to mention her inactive dating-slash-sex life.”

You shout in surprise as you whirled around to face the top bunk closest to you, a hand over your frantically beating heart.

“Oh,” Sungchan looked far too pleased with that addition. “and that too.”

“Were you just there the entire time?” you asked, almost hysterical. “Why are you here?”

“This is the on-call room.” Chenle’s raven head popped up with his cheek lined with sleep marks, appearing disgruntled from being disturbed from his cat-nap. He rested his chin on top of the bunk’s railing, eyeing you both in mild interest despite the sleepy haze. “I’m allowed to be here—and I’m flattered, really.” Chenle shot you a meaningful look. “but hard pass. I’d prefer someone less neurotic.”

Sungchan let out a loud ‘ha!’ and you were far too mortified from admitting to your questionable, yet old attraction to your past subordinate to even rebut that and spark a debate with a guy just as competitive as yourself.

Chenle cracked a lazy smile after a moment of three of you exchanging looks. “So, Jeno, huh?” If one of them says his name one more time, you fear that his namesake would appear in this very room. “Makes sense. You’ve stopped bitching about him.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” Sungchan trailed off. “I was starting to think you killed him, or something. Didn’t think he’d buy your silence with sex. How did that even happen?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?”

Chenle tipped his head back with loud peels of laughter escaping him just as Sungchan rolled his eyes so hard that you silently hoped they’d get stuck staring into the void of where his brain was supposed to be.

“Be serious—an accident, she says.” Sungchan said in disbelief. “What, like his dick miraculously shoved itself deep into you without either of you knowing? Very funny.”

“What do you want me to say? It just happened—we were arguing,” (“of course you were.”) “We ended up kissing, then he fucked me on the coffee table—“

“Does he know people eat on that?” Chenle whined. “I eat on that.”

Your cheeks were scalding to the touch as you spoke through clenched teeth, “I couldn’t exactly ask since we were busy—”

Whatever else you had to say was cut short, much to the relief of both men when your phone buzzed from the pocket of your scrubs.

Sungchan took one quick peek at the lit up screen of your phone and snickered. “Speak of the devil.”

Chenle scoffed. “Jesus Christ, did I invoke his spirit or something?”

You immediately hushed them, tapping the answer button in haste.

“Hi, Jeno.”

Your voice took on a higher pitch as you greeted said roommate (whether it was from excitement or relief, you weren’t going to think too much about it) and completely glossed over the shared glances between Sungchan and Chenle because of it. There were a couple of things you’ve done in the past that were way worse than changing how you spoke to somebody.

“Hey, honey.” Good God. You were going to kill him.“Did I call you at a bad time? You sound worked up.”

“Peachy,” you ground out. “What do you want?”

“I brought you lunch? Well, no. I brought it, then left it with Jimin.”

“You didn’t poison it, did you?” You asked, dubious and gave Chenle the middle finger when he mimed making out with the air. Unbelievable. To think you’ve fantasized sucking his dick in one of the storage rooms before. “‘Cause why the hell would you be bringing me lunch when I brought lunch myself—”

“Actually, no. You forgot to pack food this morning.”

That gave you a start. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“...really?”

Jeno hummed as an affirmative. Huh. No wonder you felt like you were forgetting something. “I was waiting for you to notice in the car, actually. Or maybe call me about it.”

You scoffed. “Why would I?”

“I’m your roommate,” he said with a sigh. Like that answered everything. “You can call me for shit like this—I mean, you could demand me to make you cum, but—“

“Uh, yeah. I think I got your point—“

“But you can’t ask me to bring you food? And not everything has to turn into an argument, by the way. I come in peace.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Jeno sighed again, followed by a gravely drawl of your name.

Your mouth twitched. “Sorry. Force of habit,” and you supposed it was a hard habit to break when Jeno had been the bane of your existence. He still was, kind of. On a lesser scale. “But seriously, you didn’t have to. Don’t you have work?”

Because it wasn’t the first time where the thought of bringing enough sustenance to last you through your shift flew over your head, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The food served at the hospital’s cafeteria wasn’t too horrible, though it would not be your first choice. Only when you were in the trenches of desperation would you consider eating what was considered a bland diet.

“I took half a day off. It’s no big deal, and I wanted to.”

Having your roommate to simply bring you food had never been an option until now. There was no need to tell him either. Jeno simply chose to make the forty-minute drive to your hospital by his own volition to make sure you’ve eaten and the unprompted courtesy was enough to tamper the possible shift in moods you’d go through for today.

“Thanks… I guess.”

“Of course.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you at home?”

“On the dot.”

“Okay. Talk soon.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead right after a softer farewell from Jeno, prompting you to tear your gaze from your phone and glower at Sungchan. Only to balk when he stared back as if you were some fucked up specimen he couldn’t for the life for him figure out. Or judging you, probably.

“What the hell was that?” Sungchan blurted out.

“What was what?”

“Girl, you were smiling back there. Like—” and Sungchan made a rather offensive impression of you smiling and fluttering your eyelashes, face falling flat right after, then raising an eyebrow to signal for an explanation.

“What? Am I not allowed to smile when my asshole roommate brings me lunch? Maybe this is his way of saying ‘hey, sorry for being an absolute moron. Would good dick and good food count as groveling?’”

“Knowing you? Probably.”

“…Maybe.” You immediately waved that thought away with a grimace before swatting at Sungchan’s arm, earning you a yelp. “Horrible impression, by the way. I do not look like that.”

Sucgchan soundlessly parroted the latter half of what you just said in a mocking manner while soothing the spot where you hit him, then his face slowly flattened to something more thoughtful.

“Ugh. What now?”

He began with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms, “I really hope you’re being smart about this.”

You did not like how critical he sounded. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The anger didn’t deter him in the slightest as he merely offered a non-committal shrug, gaze steady. “I’m just saying. I’ve been friends with you long enough to figure out you aren’t the type to willingly get yourself into situationships.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a situationship.”

“Sounds like one to me,” Chenle butted in.

You shot him a glare, something he waved off in blithe disregard. You really missed the earlier times where these two were still cautious around you.

“Are you going through a quarter-life crisis or something?” Sungchan asked. “Because looking at Jeno’s track record, he’s definitely the last person you’d go for. I thought you hated the guy?”

“I can still fuck the guy and hate him at the same time. It’s not mutually exclusive,” you joked, then sighed at the matching deadpans you got. “Seriously, you guys, It’s not like I’m expecting anything more.”

It went silent for a while. Neither Chenle had anything to say, and he was a chronic commenter towards conversations like this; though you weren’t sure if staying mum was better than giving his needless two cents. Chenle talked mostly to defuse the growing tension, proven quite useful when the time called for it. Then there was Sungchan again, staring at you as if he knew something you didn’t. It made your skin crawl and you were about to snap again when he beat you to it.

“I know,” he said evenly. “I’m just looking out for you.”

All the simmering animosity was put to a standstill, a small pulse of guilt rattling your heart because of course he would. Sungchan meant well like any other friend who genuinely cared for your well-being, and you reciprocated the sentiment seeing that you wouldn’t think twice elbowing the next asshole who would go against any of your friends as well.

“I get that. I do, but I’m also capable of making my own decisions.”

“Sure—yeah, but there’s still a fifty percent chance of this one coming back to bite you in the ass. Should I remind you of the twenty-twenty-two incident? That one model. Starts with a ‘Y’, ends with an ‘N’—”

“Okay, but we didn’t start as fuck buddies. And I genuinely thought we had something—“ Which was crazy to admit out loud despite it being the truth. “Yeonjun was awfully clingy and sweet.”

Granted, he had been like that with everybody, but even so, you had somehow deluded yourself into believing that Yeonjun reserved a piece of himself that only you had access to. How he spoke in hushed tones with the tenderness of a lover promising you the world. How his eyes matched the words saturated in reverence like what he had sitting in front of him was a multitude of stars banding together to form into a person that would fit the puzzle of me and you. Arguably, a soulmate.

Anyone who had been indefinitely touched-starved would have reveled in the delusion meticulously curated for them, or so you’d like to say as a form of reassurance. It was truly an embarrassing time.

“You really can’t blame me for thinking he was serious about me.”

Six passion-filled months. There wasn’t a day where Yeonjun wasn’t there, and then he fucked off to fuck-knows-where without even so much as a goodbye. Ghosted you, pretty much that you almost went catatonic with the constant overthinking, whether it was a problem on your end, or a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ type of thing.

That low period to you now was a fuzzy whirlwind of your friends lending their hands to help you get back onto your feet. Grieving of what could have been was an inevitable risk you refused to entertain then, and once you had powered your way through its five stages, a sixth stage was factored in: a milder version of arson. An addition Mark took great pleasure in when he insisted on handling the fire on your behalf.

Stolen ‘boyfriend’ clothes, received gifts, tangible memories in the form of paper like movie tickets, polaroids and a receipt from a yogurt shop’s grand-opening; all burnt with the vigor of a prehistoric man discovering fire, except this all happened in the apartment’s parking lot on a muggy spring midnight.

“Which is why I’m praying to every deity out there that you’re actually using your brain for this one,” Sungchan stressed. “and not treating this as an enemies-to-lovers type of situation. This isn’t Wattpad.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Appalled that he would even associate you with that capitalistic nightmare. And calling you stupid, too, you supposed. “I literally just said I wasn’t expecting anything other than sex.”

“We’ll take your word for it, then,” Chenle said, then raised both of his hands in defense when Sungchan fixed him a stern look. “What? You heard her. It doesn’t go any deeper than sex. She’s thought about this. That’s proof enough that she’s using her brain for once.” He turned to look at you, barely apologetic. “No offense.”

Your eye twitched. “Offense taken, asshole.”

Chenle smirked. “Good.”

“I hope your next case dies on the table.”

Sungchan stared at you for a long time. Besides the unwavering gaze, there was nothing you could latch onto that would have hinted to what he could possibly be thinking in the moment as those brown doe eyes of his pierced into the most vulnerable part of your soul. But you were just as stubborn in that regard, staring right back.

Sungchan broke first with a resigned, yet irritated sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. If the sex makes you less of a bitch than usual, then be my guest.”

“Wow,” you huffed. “you both are equally dogshit at this whole talking thing, you know that?”

And it wasn’t like you were clueless, obviously. Naive was one thing you weren’t and you knew exactly what you signed up for when your gaze would unconsciously trail after Jeno’s sinewy figure padding around the apartment after bumping uglies. When you became less irritated with everything he did such as breathing too loudly, and when you slowly, but surely started seeing Jeno as a friend, too.

Labeling yourselves as roommates was one thing as it was expected to have a level of civility there with one another. Settling on friends, on the other hand, made a sizable difference when the steadily growing bond gradually fizzled out the prior awkwardness after being at your most vulnerable. Jeno never made you second guess the unspoken agreement of being at each other’s beck and call, and in fact, he has been rather sweet about it. Dare you say it, doting even.

It was an occasional thought that would pop into your head during your quieter times away from work; if your roommate had the same candied regard for any wayward soul falling into the same bed, while at the same time, all logic told you Jeno was simply like that—kind and considerate to everybody no matter who they were. So the thought was quickly put to a rest.

Your phone lit up with a resounding ping.

Jeno Lee: eat well ‎(੭.◜◡◝)੭ ᯓᡣ𐭩

“Good God,” Sungchan groaned. “We lost another promising young woman to a man.” You shoved at his shoulder.

Though, maybe one small part of you thought being roommates had put you above the rest.

Jimin continued watching you devour your lunch like an overtly curious cat. Big-eyed and non-blinking, fixated on every minute movement you’ve been making that her salad was momentarily abandoned.

“Wow,” she whispered. “You’re fucking that up real good.”

“I’m fuckin’ hungry, damn,” you snapped, bits flying out of your mouth. Jimin barely batted an eyelash at the crumbs hitting her flawless face, smiling fondly. “I’ll ‘fuck up’ anythin’ at this point.”

“Fair enough,” Jimin conceded and took a more delicate approach in eating, giving her iceberg lettuce a dainty nibble; bunny-pink lips clashing nicely against the leafy green.

Painful as it was to admit, the chicken and veggie wrap, previously wrapped in foil labeled with ‘chicken veggie wrap :)’ in Jeno’s audacious scrawl, was delicious. So delicious, in fact, that it took only two large bites to reach half its original length. No wonder Jeno had been incessant with the whole meal prep thing. The guy knew his flavors pretty damn well. You could just picture him in your kitchen; the same pink frilly disaster of an apron cinched around his lithe waist, counting down the hours while making sure not a thing was out of place in a simple wrap until he had to make the lunch-run.

There was also a granola bar thrown in there. Jeno put you up on them after he had caught you snagging a few from his stash during a midnight kitchen run-in. You remember almost pissing yourself laughing when you had walked in on him subscribing for two boxes to arrive at your doorstep with a sweet pout just so he won’t run out as quickly now you’ve taken a liking to them. A bottle of orange juice because nagging how you’re in much need of some Vitamin C wasn't enough for him and lastly—for dessert—a small packet of organic gummy bears you were sure was made for toddlers, judging by its packaging.

Not that you were complaining. They were good; you’ve eaten five packets in one sitting after not finding anything from your stock of sweets and junk food which led to Jeno ordering extra of those, too. He mentioned it was a healthier alternative to the jellies he would be tempted to reach for when he craved some extra sugar.

Goddamn. This is so good. A contented hum and a wiggle of your shoulders expressed the sentiment, much to Jimin’s amusement. Right when you were about to take another gargantuan bite out of Jeno’s then eight-incher wrap, you came to a screeching halt at the sound of Mark calling your name.

Aside from Mark’s teal Fig scrubs, he was easy to spot when his already bright smile became blinding; the sun might as well shine out of his ass when he saw Jimin sitting with you, pleased that you were on talking terms again.

Unlike Jeno, Jimin had it heaps easier when it came to your forgiveness, and like Mark, Jimin had also been with you from stepping foot into your freshmen orientation, to the last walk after securing your degree. The only difference was Jimin had already been living with a mutual friend, and instead of the distance waning your closeness, it did the exact opposite. And if that wasn’t enough, you both got placed in the same hospital as an odd sort of compensation as well. Funny how the universe worked.

Sure, Jimin may have tinged a very small part of your suffering, but that was an easily buried hatchet. Besides, with your long withstanding friendship, you wouldn’t let a man come in between you both. Even if that man was Jeno Lee.

She was also the only other person who knew of your situation with Jeno. You thought it was only right to let her in on the secret, given she also slept with the man.

“Hey girls,” he greeted once reaching your table. “What are we talking about?”

“Jeno.” Jimin gestured towards you mid-bite. “He brought her lunch like a good housewife.”

“Oh dude, really?” Mark looked absolutely thrilled at the thought and completely glazed over Jimin’s joke, grinning so hard that for a second, you considered asking him if his cheeks hurt. “Awesome. It's great to see you two getting along now. Seriously.”

That’s one way to say it, you thought, schooling your expression into something blank as you shared a furtive glance with Jimin.

“Thought I was gonna have to break up another fight soon.”

“They’re getting along just fine, or so I’ve heard. I don’t think you have to worry about her becoming a convicted felon,” Jimin went on to say, confirming your so-called truce with a grin far too giddy when not too long ago, you had resented Jeno’s presence.

Somehow, this was what Mark noticed when you caught his eyebrows slightly knit together with a head tilt, eyes darting back and forth between you girls Though, before he could nose his way into your business as usual, you quickly cut him off.

“Jeno and I are fine, Mark,” you stressed. “Are you sitting with us?”

“Ah, no.” Mark shook his head. “Dejun’s waiting on me. I just wanna confirm if you’re coming to the party next week.”

“Party?” you echoed, a little lost. “What party?”

Mark arched an eyebrow. “Our housewarming party?” You squint, trying to recall if your best friend had mentioned anything about that. Mark blinked. “I called Jeno two days ago about it. I thought he told you?”

“Oh, right! That party. Yeah, totally.”

The call you knew about, yes. You were at least mentally present enough to jerk at the shrill ringtone Jeno had set for incoming calls and ask him who the hell had the worst timing in the world to call either of you post-coital bliss, but not lucid enough to recall the details of their conversation. Not when Jeno had smoothed the wrinkles of your brain—severely compromising any neural functions in charge of forming a thought or kicking you into action—after fucking the living shit out of you, the roughness fueled by a particularly difficult work day.

Something about an entitled asshole of a client demanding more and more of his time and efforts. You weren’t too sure. Jeno hadn’t talked much after that, or at all, really; rather preoccupied with releasing his frustrations by chasing both of your orgasms with each snap of his hips. The most you got was a grunt or two—two from the times you’ve attempted taking control. A third attempt was never made. Jeno made sure of it, pinning both of your wrists above your head, a look of warning etched onto his face.

There was also the distracting sight of him, naked as the day he was born, pacing around his bedroom. He had been speaking low into the phone as he picked up after yourselves; gathering your clothes that were ripped off of each other in haste and then dumping them into his laundry basket, giving you a full view of his pale ass. Huh, there’s a mole on his left ass cheek—yeah, very distracting.

Jeno then turned around to face you, dick and balls swinging at that, still on the phone with Mark yapping about whatever and mimed drinking out of a mug with a quizzical glint in his eyes. Coffee?

You nodded slowly, curling further into the soft nest made up of the duvet, pillows and the sweet and musky scent of Jeno.

The last thing you saw before you dozed off was the gentle stretch of Jeno’s lips as he continued talking (seriously, how much did Mark have to say?) cheek and a broad shoulder holding his phone in place while pulling a clean pair of boxers up his thighs.

“If you can’t find your dog, just look for me.” That pretty much confirmed Jimin’s attendance.

Mark snickered then turned to you, expecting. “Are you and Jeno coming together then?”

“Well,” you trailed off, pretending to think long and hard about it just to mess with your ex-roommate. “Jeno is the one with a car, so…”

When Mark started to look sulky, that’s when you laughed and took a pause from pulling his leg.

“Yes. Jeno and I are coming together.”

“Mark’s housewarming party.”

Jeno, who had been in the middle of stuffing the washer with your clothes combined, looked at you with an eyebrow raised. You stared back at him. “Seriously? You’re not going to follow that up with anything else?”

“I wasn’t aware it was happening so soon.”

Both eyebrows disappeared underneath his hair. “You were literally in my room when Mark called. He was on speaker.”

Was he now? Because all you could remember was a muffled sound of something talking Jeno’s ear off. Nothing was coherent to you during that time. You were fucked too stupid, unfortunately.

“I can’t recall,” you said mostly to yourself, but it was still heard anyway, judging by the tinge of amusement lighting Jeno’s face. “I think I was distracted.”

“Were you?” The overhead light made Jeno’s teeth glint almost dangerously as he grinned. As if one sudden move from you would end up having those sharp pearly whites of his pressed against your throat. “Distracted? You? Care to elaborate?”

The thing about living under the same roof for months and counting was your roommate will inadvertently pick up on things. One of them being the hows of dealing with you and you so called riddle-speak of passive-aggressiveness—patient and kind Jeno. There was none of that now. What stood tall before you was almost like a crude version of yourself molded by long-term exposure alone. Jeno was pushing back, more than usual—posing as a challenge almost; to give you a taste of your own medicine, but you were never one to back down.

With each step you took towards Jeno, an article of clothing came off. And with each of them falling with dull thump, Jeno’s eyes grew wider, jaw dropping further until it hit the ground when you stood so so close—a hair’s breadth away that he could make out the remnants of the cloying notes of your perfume—bare as goosebumps erupted on your skin from the cool blast of the air conditioning and the dark look Jeno fixed onto you when you plop your clothes into the almost empty laundry basket he held.

“Well?” You said, biting back a laugh by chewing on your lower lip as you peered over your shoulder to find your roommate still frozen while you were already halfway across the room. “Aren’t you coming?”

You had no interest in hearing his answer (it was obvious), spinning on your heel to make the sensual trek towards his bedroom. Though, you supposed, hearing Jeno scramble and swear like a damn sailor was worth not feasting your eyes on what it was like watching Jeno Lee lose his goddamn mind.

There was a knock on your en suite and Jeno’s head popped in through the opening of the door.

“Ready when you are,” he said, beaming when he met your gaze through the mirror.

“Almost,” you said, frowning slightly when you couldn’t get your eyeliner just right. “If my eyeliner does its fucking job.”

“Want me to help?” Jeno walked in, gently taking the liquid eyeliner from your shaky fingers and patting your hip so you could turn around and face him. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“Mm, I bet. Is that what you say to the other girls?” you jeered, but let him cradle your cheek nevertheless for him to save your poor attempt at evening out your eyeliner. You tilted your head back to make it easier and Jeno hummed, pleased with your rare compliance.

“They were never really up for talking, if I’m being honest—close your eyes for me—thank you.” His voice was soft. As soft as the felt tip that swiped a clean line above your eyelashes that left a slight cooling sensation from the ink. “Always a one and done thing,” he said this quietly, all too quickly, which gave you quite a start. Jeno didn’t seem to pick up on (thankfully) as he continued to talk, “and I have an older sister who's notorious for sharing her hobbies. I know too much about makeup and true crime. You aren’t going to kill me after this, are you?” That made you laugh.

“She sounds really nice,” you offered instead, thinking it wouldn’t be good to nudge the crack of vulnerability wider when you had to be somewhere else soon.

“She’s the best,” Jeno switched to your other eye, “You’d get along with her, I think.”

Somehow, the notion eased you. “Tell me more about her.”

For someone who labeled himself quiet on most occasions, Jeno was rather loose-lipped when he talked about his sister, and it didn’t stop there. Not that it wasn’t welcomed—his voice was rather pleasant to the ears, you’ve observed, but it was likely due to the fact that getting Jeno to talk usually requires some coaxing, so it was a charming surprise. From what he said so far, there was this muddled, but workable silhouette of his family dancing around your head, an almost trustworthy point of reference if somehow you had to get Mr. and Mrs. Lee plus older sister Lee on your good side.

(“Just think of them as me, but in, like, different fonts,” Jeno said and he seemed quite serious about his claim, too. “You’ll be fine.”

“Ah, so you’d be easy to impress then. Got’cha.”)

Not only that, but the conversation steered towards the family cats he loved dearly, but was painfully allergic too. Either Seol or Nal would have been an exciting addition to your living situation and it took you a full minute to mourn the loss of a furry companion. Although you loved the idea and would do anything to make it a reality, Jeno’s health mattered most here. He might have given you a free trial of what hell could be like all those months ago, but you genuinely cared about his comfort and safety.

In exchange, Jeno got to know more about Mom and Dad. Mom ran a small coffee shop she had built from the ground up; a modestly sized café that sat just across the private hospital where Dad worked as a surgeon and unlike your roommate, Mom and Dad were blessed by only one daughter: you. Though you did joke that the family samoyed, Dozy, could as well be their second child from how he was loved so much as if he were their own, just like how they loved you.

“Y’know, he kind of looks like you,” you said as you handed over your phone to show your lock screen set as one of Dozy’s many pictures you had taken and went back to finish the rest of your face makeup. “Maybe it’s the eyes and how you both are so damn smiley all the time,” you chuckled. “Dozy’s always been a happy pup. I miss him.”

“Believe me, that’s not the first time I’ve been told I look like a samoyed,” Jeno said with a crooked smile as he slid back your phone to rest next to your makeup bag. “I’m pretty sure Hyuck’s convinced I am one.”

“You are quite the horndog. He’s not too far off. I won’t have to worry about you humping my leg, will I?”

“You’re not funny.” Jeno sulked, making you snicker at his pouty self.

“Is your dad why you became a nurse?”

You gave him a smile before facing the mirror to work on your eyelashes. “Kind of, but I think my aunt—Mom’s sister—was the one who influenced me, mostly. She always cared so much about people. Cared so much about me too, and she was like my second mom growing up. Especially when we moved to the city. And as much as I thought being a surgeon like Dad was cool, I wanted to be like Auntie more—more hands on with the patient’s recovery and care.”

You tubed the mascara, satisfied with the added definition to your eye-look. “I could have been like Dad though, but I never had the guts to stick my hands into people like he does.”

“Huh,” was all Jeno had to say and it made you snort.

“Yeah, I get that it’s surprising for you, given I wasn’t exactly nice to you at one point,” you said, sheepish as you stared at the clutter of make-up on the counter sink. “Sorry for being a major bitch, by the way.”

“No—no, it’s not that,” Jeno said, holding up a placating hand. “It makes sense, really—that you really care about your job. If anything, I should be apologizing.”

“Eh, it’s whatever.” You shrugged. “I’m not mad about it anymore. It’s just fun being mean to you for no reason sometimes.”

Jeno sighed in relief, and then grinned so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I can see why Hyuck and Jaemin like you so much.”

“It’s really hard not to,” you joked.

“I can agree with that, yeah.” Your roommate’s smile dimmed into something gentler, gaze slowly taking in your mirrored image, causing you to blink owlishly. Not at the blatant ogling because God knows how much of an ogler you were when Jeno wasn’t paying attention, but somehow the gleam nestled in the darkness of his eyes was starkly different from what you were used to when stripped down to your bare necessities. You supposed you should be used to it. Jeno seemed to have a bit of a staring problem.

You rid any thoughts relating to why that was with an immediate shake of your head. “What about you? What got you into cyber security?”

“Mine’s not really for a noble cause, or anything.” Jeno moved from where he stood behind you to stand to your right, resting his hip against the edge of the counter with his arms folded above his chest. “I was good with Math and computers. That evolved into programming, decided to make a career out of it and went to college while deluding myself that I’d make good money someday. Which kind of came true, I guess.”

“Sounds like you could afford an apartment by yourself then,” you said, recalling the time where Mark had told you about Jeno's exceptional credit score. Anything that fell under your roommate’s state of finances wasn’t ever mentioned and asking him point-blank was considered rude, but that alone was enough to give you an idea of how deep his pockets ran. Though the notion should have come faster to you, with how Jeno carried himself sometimes. Or his preference for the more obscure brands you haven’t heard of until him.

“You’re not trying to kick me out, are you?” He teased just as you were about to correct yourself. “I could have, yeah. I know I’m not the most social, but it can get very lonely at times.”

Now isn’t that the truth? Although the thought hadn’t crossed your mind all too much, you were no stranger to the feeling. You supposed you had to thank Mark for not letting you waste away in isolation when the guy practically viewed you as an extension of himself, always dragging you along for the ride which didn’t leave any time for you to wallow in a closed space with your hurricane of thoughts. He had always made sure you were out in the open and involved with anything under the wide umbrella of socialization. You’d be a hermit if it weren’t for Mark.

Where there was someone else acting on your behalf, there was no such thing when it came to Jeno. It's as if there was this gravitational pull drawing you into each other. You simply just found yourselves within each other’s orbit without any prompting and the silence that would usually follow hadn’t been as oppressive as you thought it would be, acting more of a companion and if anything, it reshaped your perception of it.

Sitting in silence was a form of a bonding activity you enjoyed with Jeno and it was just as gratifying disrupting the peace with breathless calls of his name.

“And now?” you pressed. “Do you still feel the same?”

“I haven’t for a long time, no.” I haven’t because of you, his smile and the tenderness that softened Jeno’s striking features seemed to say, but you didn’t let yourself hang onto the possibility. Prickly as you were, you were no exception to Jeno’s inherent sweetness. “Say, you haven’t put anything on your lips yet, right?”

“You watched me do most of my makeup.”

Jeno clicked his tongue. “Just answer my question.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “No, Jen, this is just lip balm.” Facing him, you peered up at him curiously. “Why? Do you want me to put on a shade that matches your tip?”

The surprised strings of laughter you pulled out of him was the loudest you’ve ever heard him, making you grin. “Jesus, shut up!” He wheezed with a playful swat to your wandering hands that almost closed in on his crotch. “I’m trying to be cute here.”

You huffed, charmed by his efforts. Like he wasn’t cute already to begin with.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. Why?”

When his laughter died down, Jeno’s hands moved before he spoke, warmth cradling your cheek as his other hand pulled you closer by the waist. “I really really want to kiss you right now,” he murmured as his fingers slowly trailed down to your neck, Jeno’s thumb swiping away the sticky remnants of the berry flavored lip balm and then settled into the little notch right underneath the hinge of your jaw. “It’d be a shame if I ruined it.”

Another gentle press of his thumb and fingers splaying down the side of your neck had you tipping back to watch him through half-lidded eyes. He was so close. The sweeter notes of Jeno’s perfume crossed with his minty aftershave brewed a scent so intoxicating, so Jeno. He smelled delectable that the next words he was about to say didn’t make it out when you got on your toes, wound your arms around his neck and kissed him.

It was sweet, though a little needy judging by how tightly Jeno’s hand clamped along the softness of your waist. If it weren’t for Mark and his girlfriend’s invitation hanging around your shoulders serving as a heavy reminder, you would have easily gotten swept up by the tempting idea of being ravished in your own bathroom by your handsy roommate.

“We’ll be late at this rate,” you mumbled against his mouth, dragging your hands down his shoulders then settling them on his chest.

Jeno let himself be pushed away, albeit reluctantly, with a resigned sigh. “Right,” he said with a sweet pout that would have done it for you, but you held strong to your self-control.

There’s a precious pink tinge to his cheeks as he watched you rifle through the spread of makeup on the bathroom counter with a serene smile.

“So, do you really have a lipstick color that matches my dick?”

“Man.”

To Jeno’s absolute delight, Mark’s girlfriend thought your lip shade and combo was perfect.

“It’s like the color was made for you,” she gushed as she led you inside and you looked at your roommate fighting a smug smile (that you had half the mind to swipe off, but you promised to yourself you’d be good tonight) while handing her his housewarming gift—a matching tea-set—along with yours: a pair of high-quality bathroom towels with the couple’s initials stitched onto them.

The space looked a lot more put-together than the last time you’ve visited (which was like a few days ago and now did you see the dynamic palette they were going for) and a lot livelier with everybody else ranging from your closest friends to mutual acquaintances chattering up a storm with one of Mark’s playlists breathing life and color into every nook and cranny of the apartment. It truly felt like a home now and you could never be more proud of your best friend reaching a milestone with the love of his life.

“How long do you think ‘til Mark pops the question?”

“Are we going by feeling, or logic?”

Jeno shook his head and steered you towards the kitchen for drinks, a hand splayed on your lower back. “Privilege,” he suggested. “Or logic too, yeah. Out of all of us, you’re the closest to Mark. I’m sure he’s talked to you about it at some point.”

There was a ring. That was one thing you were sure of, but the details of when Mark was going to get hitched hadn’t really become a topic for discussion. It’ll come in due time. You relayed this tidbit to Jeno which earned you a solemn nod while he poured you a glass of moscato with a thoughtful pursing of his lips.

You squeezed his bicep in silent thanks, taking a healthy gulp of the sweet carmine while Jeno took to nursing a bottle of beer and swiped a slice of pizza sitting idly on the counter among many other finger-foods for you, then served himself. The pizza was still warm and you were rather peckish, and you couldn’t care less if you looked like an animal chomping down on the greasy goodness.

Jeno didn’t look like he minded, simply reaching out to pet your head with a satisfied twitch of his lips before his hand fell back to his side. It filled you with something warm and fuzzy that you promptly drowned whatever the fuck that was with the moscato. Must be the cheese.

“Well, shit,” he said eventually, smacking his lips together after a sip and then took a bite of his slice that muffled his next slew of words, “I have this on-going bet with a few other people who’re wondering the same. Figured I’d win with your help.” Taking a quick glance at your now empty glass, he refilled it without any preamble.

“My condolences.” The idea of a betting pool centered around Mark’s foreseeable engagement was so ridiculous that it made you laugh and almost tipped your drink over. “sorry I couldn’t make you rich,” you offered after getting through the giggling and thanked him for the refill.

“It’s fine. I earn enough for both of us anyway.” Jeno winked, laughing softly when that made you choke on your drink a little and handed you a tissue to clean up the spillage.

The first hour consisted of you making your rounds as a pair, sticking close as you made polite conversation with anyone you knew as a unit until you inevitably branched out to catch up with your own closer set of friends. You were in the middle of bullying Renjun into talking about his own private life outside of work when Mark decided to unearth himself from whatever social pile had consumed him, excusing you from Renjun and Jimin, who in fact, had their dog held hostage like she promised. Yet Ziggy appeared rather content, if anything, dozing away in the cradle of her arms.

“I’m really glad you and Jeno could make it,” Mark said, eyes sparkling. “I was half expecting you to show up without him, or, like, ignore him the entire night.”

“Like I’ve said before, Jeno and I are way past the animosity,” you complained. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“It’s kinda hard to move past the fact you’ve called me at fuck o’ clock just to tell me he looked at you wrong.”

(You had been enlightened that those were fuck me eyes Jeno was shooting you, but you didn’t think Mark would appreciate the clarification).

“Yeah, well, that was before Jeno and I decided to be adults and talk like you’ve said. We’re cool now.”

“I know, I know and I’m really happy about that.”

You huffed, squinting at him. “Way too happy.”

He grinned with a twinkle in his eyes and reached out to flick your nose. “I just can’t help but think that you’re only saying that to reassure me or something.” Mark raised, which didn’t make him wrong. God knows the exact amount of times you’ve called or texted the man in regards to your supposed then misfortune of taking Jeno in. “Glad to know that’s not the case.”

“You have no faith in me.” you said, dry. “We've lived together for almost four years and still, you have no faith in me.”

“I’m a ‘see it to believe it’ kinda guy, and I’ve seen enough to believe you. I’ve been trying to get you alone, y’know? And I can’t really do that when you’ve got Jeno hovering around you.”

“Okay? That literally has never stopped you before.”

Mark knew where he stood being the closest to what you would consider family, he knew the many advantages that came with it too and people were conscious of it as well, such as snatching you away mid-conversation with no repercussions. His current neutral mien then twisted into something shrewd and a touch gloating as though he was in on some kind of inside joke he could very well tell you about, but decided not to because it would be funnier for him.

“You both have my blessing then.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Mark, what the hell are you talking about?”

Mark also knew you hated not knowing anything.

Of all people, he was well acquainted with this pet-peeve of yours, yet it was so easy for him to give you a wordless pat on the shoulder and leave you in the dark. You were left even more lost when you caught him giggling to himself when leaving you on your own, probably to search for his better half, and that wasn’t even the end of it.

The simpering followed you all the way to the small collective of women you gathered with once every two weeks (minus Mark’s girlfriend who was likely still entertaining a few of their guests). Any other day, the sight of the girls would have filled you with elation, though it’s as if you weren’t allowed it under the varying states of coquettish looks you received and instead, confronted with the late realization that you’ve unknowingly walked into a snake’s pit.

It made your hackles rise and you wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

“What are the odds that I’d see an old hook-up at a housewarming party?” Jayme drawled, “and not only that, but he came with you too.”

You blinked slowly, already over it. “I would hope so since he is my roommate and the one with a car, in case you forgot.”

“No duh, we know that,” Aeri rolled her eyes. “but it’s still just so crazy to me! It’s like fate at work, y’know? We’ve all had our fun with Jeno once or a few times before he fucked off to somewhere and went radio silent, only for us to find out he landed at your door and stayed there. Indefinitely.”

“Uh huh. Kinda comes with the idea of having a roommate. You live with the person. Indefinitely.”

Aeri stuck her tongue out at you.

Fei cackled, making you turn to her with pleading eyes. This only made her smile turn sharper. “I’ve got to say, I’m kinda jealous that you have access to him twenty-four-seven,” she mused. “He looks really good tonight. I wouldn’t know what not to do to him if he lived with me.”

They were never really up for talking. Always a one and done thing.

Oh. So that’s what Jeno meant. At first, you had thought his blatant evasion was simply the result of the awkwardness that would at times stem after recounting his past physical involvements with anyone else. Showing up at this gathering—being in the same space with the handful of women Jeno had been with—you couldn’t help but wonder how he fared with the unprecedented reunion, especially within their range of scrutiny, because the more you listened to the girls talk, Jeno’s hesitance on broaching the topic grew easier to understand.

They were never really up for talking became this incessant drawl in your head, as grating as hearing the same damn mosquito buzz right by your ear alongside their flagrant chatter about your roommate and his performance limited within the four corners of his bed. To the girls, Jeno was nothing more than a toy to be discarded once they got bored playing with him.

“Okay—can you guys be normal for one second?”

You didn’t mean to snap the way you did, but if that put a stop to the one-sided conversation, then so be it. Whatever Jeno was feeling at the moment could not possibly be on par with the steadily growing irritation prickling under your skin. The last time you had checked on him, there was a relaxed slump in his form as he spoke with Mark and you hoped it stayed that way.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “He’s literally right there and this is hardly the time or place.”

They made it sound like Jeno wasn’t attached to the cock they raved about. A real human with real thoughts and feelings. It made your stomach roll uncomfortably just as you balled your fists to stop them from shaking. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Fei scrunched her nose as the rest of your posse leveled the cold bleeding into your words with mild alarm. “Girl, relax, it's all in good fun.”

“And aren’t you having as much fun with him?” Aeri asked, “since when were you a prude?”

A prude? Far from it. Promiscuous? Not that either. A healthy balance between two opposing natures, likely, teetering the fine line separating them. As far as you were concerned, however, no one knew—except for a small pool of people you've told personally—what you got up to with Jeno.

It was a running joke, the girls poking fun at the perk you refused to use to your advantage and there were times where you had been tempted to tell them just how often you pawed at Jeno until he gave in to your whims (which wasn’t all that hard really). In the end, especially after this talk, you’d prefer to keep the nitty-gritty details under multiple locks and keys.

“Or a hypocrite,” Jayme chimed in.

Leaving this place with a permanent scowl etched onto your face wouldn’t be entirely impossible.

“Just—just stop fucking talking about him like—like that. I—” I don’t like it. “It’s weird. Inappropriate.” you muttered, staring at your still tightened fists on your lap that bunched up the billow of your dress.

It went quiet for a while, like it does whenever someone expressed their grievances within the circle and it was especially unnerving when you became the very subject of the girls’ observation. You didn’t dare break under the pressure, staring resolutely at the loud artwork and wall decor hung up with an otherwise jaded stare. The least you could do was keep your head held high where your face could be seen so you wouldn’t get found out.

Fei took it upon herself to break the ice with a quirk of a thin eyebrow. “You think it’s weird?”

“It’s weird,” you echoed and offered nothing more. Saying that it pissed you off more than you had expected would just have them make something out of nothing, and dealing with it was not really part of your agenda for the night.

“You weren’t complaining before, unless…” Fei’s impression smoothed over as understanding dawned on her face. “Ah. Okay, I see.”

Okay, that’s also weird as hell because why was Fei (and the others) regarding you with the same look Mark had given you moments ago?

Whatever it was, your questions were unfortunately put on the back-burner the moment a pained yelp caught everyone’s attention.

When all of you faced the direction it came from and found Donghyuck writhing, it didn’t come as a surprise. Give Donghyuck an inch and he’d take miles upon miles until he found his limit. The limit seemed to be the man you just talked about this time as the crushing grip around Donghyuck’s hand pulled a pained whine from the latter. He must have ticked Jeno off so badly if his knees were so close to meeting the ground, as opposed to Jaemin who stood off to the side, lax and just happy to be there witnessing his roommate’s self-inflicted misfortune.

Aeri cleared her throat, “does that also mean we’re not allowed to look or..?”

“Look all you want,” you said, following it with a derisive noise and got up, dusting your behind as you went.

There was no harm in leaving them to feast their eyes on your Adonis of a roommate. They’re free to do as much. It’s not like they’re the ones who got to go home with Jeno and they sure as hell weren’t the ones who got to have him in any way you wanted.

“Oh, good,” Aeri said, relieved, and fully took advantage of the five second window to fix a hungry look onto Jeno which, yeah, totally understandable. She could have waited when you weren’t watching, though. “‘Cause your man looks insanely gorgeous tonight.”

You let out a scoff. You weren’t born yesterday and lord knows how you wished you were immune to your roommate’s charms. Being ignorant of Jeno supposedly winning in the genetic department was a rare feat on its own that even the agreement between strangers had been timely; double takes were more common than not when your roommate fit the equation, and tonight wasn’t any different.

Maybe it was how Jeno wore his dress shirt; three unlatched buttons to flash a glimpse of his pale chest with the sleeves folded to reveal veiny forearms phlebotomists fantasized about (you know you did. Sometimes. Where the hell was he when you needed someone to draw blood from for your labs and practicals?) or the plain jeans in the same shade accentuating his long legs, or the dramatic change to his hair.

A week ago, Jeno had mentioned getting his hair done. With the longevity of Jeno’s infamous blue hair, the immediate thought after telling him your usual boba tea order was he might have set an appointment to get a touch up like he had done a few times and keep the mullet, or at least give it a trim and keep it neat.

Neither of your assumptions were right and instead, Jeno had walked into the apartment with a two-block cut and hair dyed back to his natural shade of black as you were in the middle of vacuuming. It could have gone two ways, one where you could have finished with the list of chores you had for the day.

Eh, vacuuming can wait. I deserve a break, you had thought as the cold herringbone flooring met your knees, pulling down Jeno’s athletic shorts along with his stirrup leggings as you went—low enough for his dick to spring free before he could even utter a ‘hello’. That was a testament to how much you agree that, yes, Jeno might as well be the eighth wonder of the world. Truly a sight to behold. Sometimes, you couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was real. That he was this irresistible.

You couldn’t even begin to explain how utterly obsessed you had been with him during the days leading up to the housewarming party; the looks, the wandering hands among the other very obvious hints you’ve dropped. Jeno at least enjoyed the attention, just as you enjoyed watching him gasp and whine with tears lining his eyes when the need to cum had his body going taut, his cock nestled deep in your throat.

“You’re so lucky.”

The corners of your mouth quirk at the sight of Jeno smiling sweetly amidst Donghyuck’s distress. “Sure am.”

Fei barked a short laugh, “congratulations.”

The comment went ignored, as well as the collective hooting when you hurried over to the trio of men standing just before the small hallway that led to the bedrooms and home office, talking among themselves. Well, the conversation was mostly carried by Jeno and Jaemin. Donghyuck was still whining from Jeno’s grip. How long had that been going on again?

Once you reached them, you decided to spare Donghyuck’s poor hand and wound your arms around Jeno’s arm closest to you, surprising both you and him considering you weren’t exactly a fan of PDA. However, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the least bit satisfied from the scandalized gasps the girls let out.

“Hi,” you greeted. Jeno did nothing to hide his apparent shock, granting him a wry smile and a squeeze to his bicep as you turned to face the gawking pair with practiced indifference. “Oh, it’s you.”

Donghyuck was the quickest to recover, wrinkling his nose. “You saw us, like, thirty minutes ago.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

As opposed to Donghyuck, who immediately pouted at your blithe disregard of him, Jaemin found it amusing, drawing in all the attention with a mixed noise of surprise and delight. “Look at you two,” he cooed, eyes the beadiest they’ve ever been as they darted between you with a sharp grin. “Since were you this cozy with each other?”

“Don’t act coy. You weren’t even supposed to know about us, but somebody couldn’t lie to save his life.” Jeno at least had half the mind to look a bit guilty with a bashful smile tugging at his lips, if not a little prideful, when he stood a little straighter. Ugh. Men.

Jaemin’s shark-like grin didn’t falter in the slightest. “It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Since I realized he was worth more alive than dead, yeah. I guess.” You gave Jeno’s bicep another self-indulgent squeeze and pressed your cheek against it. “He listens to me very well.”

Jeno jerked in your hold with an affronted noise.

“He’s always been such a good boy,” Donghyuck cooed and reached out with his good hand to scratch Jeno’s chin. “Aren’t you?”

You caught the twitch in Jeno’s eyebrow and for about three seconds, Donghyuck’s pain-filled shriek drowned out the excited chatter. Barely anyone batted an eyelash, used to your friend’s raucous nature, and the party carried on as usual despite the small disturbance. The least you could do was pat Donghyuck’s shoulder, much more delicate than Jeno could ever be with him. You still ended up laughing at his pitiful state, however, before pulling Jeno aside and leaving Jaemin to deal with the aftermath of his roommate’s sulking.

“You okay?”

You herded Jeno further into the same small hallway, immediately relaxing from the needed privacy. Everyone else was too preoccupied anyway. Small mercies.

“Yeah,” you said with a meek nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeno’s face did this thing whenever his thoughts tend to process on the faster side of things. Although you’ve often seen this happen in real time, being on the receiving end of his muted scrutiny—at least from the times where you were aware—had been on the complete opposite of the spectrum. It made you feel a little weird inside, but you were honestly too tired to misread the look as something else that would then evolve into an argument you’d lead.

“For starters, you usually don’t grope me in public,” Jeno quipped, flexing his arm until his shirt tightened around the muscle and it’s actually so dumb that it was enough to make you laugh.

Jeno beamed, delighted.

“You have nice arms,” and you took it as an invitation to be handsy in the dim hallway. “Very nice to look at. Strong."

He rolled his eyes just as you inwardly winced at your lack of eloquence. Your attempt at ass-kissing could use some work, yet Jeno hasn’t made the move to pull away from your touch. He said it himself—Jeno was awfully easy to please.

“Just tell me what you want.”

“Your credit card details.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow.

“My credit…” He hesitated for a little bit, searching your face that—with years of practice—was schooled into a neutral expression that wouldn’t give anything away. Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly worn leather wallet.

You cracked a smile. “I’m just fucking with you,” you chuckled. “I do want to go home though.”

He froze then hastily shoved his wallet back, pink in the face. “Right now?”

“Mhm, right now. It’s okay if you want to stay. I know you haven't been able to hang out with Jaemin and Donghyuck lately.” Jeno looked doubtful. “I’ll get an Uber home,” you assured him.

He didn’t answer right away, Jeno’s interest momentarily stolen by the party growing louder by each tick of the clock which you could immediately tell was Donghyuck’s doing from the distinct hearty yell of ‘Mark Lee!’.

A part of you understood that Jeno wasn’t technically bound by your decisions, disregarding the amount of times you gladly let Jeno bend, twist and pull you to mold seamlessly against him to a point where you couldn’t tell where he ended, or where you began. It’s not at all lost to you that you were still your own person just as Jeno had the free will to do whatever the fuck he so desired without you breathing down his neck, yet the other half of you—the ugly, selfish half hoped—wanted—Jeno to call it a night too and let himself get swept off of his feet to take him home. Hell, you half-considered shoving your pride aside to ask him to leave with you.

Though it seemed that no pride will take a hit tonight when Jeno gazed back at you with a sweet curl to his mouth and a gentle shake of his head. He reached out to loosely wrap a hand around your wrist.

“They can survive without me for a day,” he said as his fingers brushed down the back of your hand until they caught onto yours and laced them together. “Let’s go home.”

Everything dissolved into a blur after that. A blur of goodbyes to the hosts and the fair few that made up the shared circle of friends. You didn’t pay much attention to that; barely said anything, too focused on how well your hands fit together.

“Would you do what it takes; If I fall, am I safe?”

“We’re getting old,” was the first thing you said the moment you and Jeno crowded through the front door. “Who dips at eleven?”

“It’s a reasonable time,” Jeno assured.

“Yeah, for losers.” He took your coat to hang it in the hallway closet with his. “We’re losers, Jen. What the fuck,” you whined, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna think you’re a loser for wanting to go home? This isn’t college anymore. I promise you, no one gave a fuck that we left early, and no one definitely gave a fuck that Jaemin passed out like an old man on Mark’s recliner.” Jeno snorted and yeah, it was pretty funny catching the light sheen of drool poking at the corner of Jaemin’s open mouth as he snored with a beer in hand still, but he had a reason why he conked out in the first place. You, on the other hand, weren’t sure if your reason for leaving would be considered.

Leaving because you couldn’t stand the way your friends gossiped about your roommate for being (kind of) a slut didn’t sound like a valid reason to most.

“I’d sure hope so,” you said drily. “A neurosurgeon—is he crazy? Let’s just hope he won’t get sued for medical malpractice or n-negligence.”

Jeno whirled around with both eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

You managed to get your chattering teeth under control. “Just cold.” You ran warmer than most, which meant you get cold easily and it won’t be long until snow starts to blanket everything in sight and possibly turn you into a bi-pedaled popsicle the moment you step outside even underneath the layers upon layers you dreaded to put on—

“C’mere.” And that thought was immediately put to a standstill when you were swathed by a firm coil of warmth; warmth that was Jeno and his toned arms, toned torso, toned pectorals, toned everything around your shivering form, which was admittedly nice. Comforting. If this were a cartoon, you can imagine the steam rising thickly off of your body as Jeno smothered you more into him, cheek pressed right into his exposed sternum.

“So.” You sighed at the rumbling against one side of your face. “What’s the real reason why we’re home early like ‘losers’?”

Despite Donghyuck dragging Jeno’s supposedly lack of humor to filth, you had always found him funny. He knew how to time his jokes well. He could be just as witty as you, Donghyuck and Jaemin combined when he actually tried and you could agree that Jeno’s dry sense of humor wouldn’t always be a hit with everybody, unlike yourself who had been surprisingly easily entertained now that you’ve gotten over your one-sided beef with him. Jeno’s humor was an acquired taste. Usually, you’d be laughing by now from Jeno piggy-backing onto your joke, but you stayed mum and just snuggled further into the welcoming warmth.

There was a little bit of coaxing from Jeno while he kept you toasty, gently rocking you both from side-to-side. Your feet were starting to hurt from standing so long, but you’d take your chances of greedily absorbing Jeno’s body heat.

You sighed, adjusting so that you were peering up at him with your chin digging into his chest. “It’s stupid,” you began, taking a few seconds to get your thoughts in order. “Well—no, it’s me who’s being stupid, but—ugh. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being dramatic,” then quieter, ”fuck knows how often I’ve been called that.” You seethed, frowning as you broke eye contact and pushed your cheek to his chest again, finding the even beats of Jeno’s heart sort of soothing.

His response was to hold you tighter, lips pressing into your hair before he murmured, “whatever’s bothering you isn’t stupid.”

You huffed softly. “Thanks for the validation, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” Jeno squeezed you again and then pulled back a little to regard you in earnest. “What’s wrong?” His face then twisted to worry. “Who pissed you off? Did you get into a fight?”

Okay, sure you were short-tempered, bordering on trigger-happy, really, and you were well aware of your own shortcomings atypical for the ideal woman, so it wasn’t at all shocking that Jeno assumed so. But you were going to toot your own horn here and say you’ve been well-behaved the majority of the evening. With no debates or fights instigated by you; up until you lost your streak when the girls had spoken out of line.

It took you a while until the very thing that gave your mood a 180 shift came spilling out.

“How would you react if a person talked shit about someone… close to you?”

Jeno, who clearly wasn’t expecting any words from how cagey you had been prior, flinched at the timbre of your voice that echoed throughout your bathroom, wide eyes blinking at your expecting reflection.

“How close are we talking about?” He hit back, adjusting the Cinamorroll headband to get his hair out of the way and then reaching for his toothbrush that was somehow there.

When Mark had moved out, you immediately took the chance of claiming the master bedroom as your own. It had a sizable walk-in closet big enough to house a separate collection of clothes for two people to which Mark’s wardrobes barely filled and a large full bathroom with ‘his and hers’ sinks. You claimed one of them, most of your shit either organized in one neat row such as your skincare, or left haphazardly scattered when you were in a hurry.

Jeno staked claim on the other sink. There was his bougie whitening toothpaste. A container housing his retainers where its existence would occasionally be forgotten until you reminded him, a select few of his own skincare—a less elaborate collection which made sense when he, to your envy, had near-perfect skin—and—ah. A half-finished bottle of Ferrari Light Essence. The cologne surprised you the most. As far as you could remember, it had never strayed from its original place: Jeno’s dresser.

“Close enough,” you answered eventually, purposely vague and passed over the logistics of Jeno unceremoniously leaving pieces of him with you—in your space, when you were sure your cleansing balm melted away your makeup. You leaned closer to the faucet to wash off the evidence that you had been out.

“I’d be pissed, obviously,” Jeno said, not really noticing your subdued reply. He took a moment to brush his teeth, spitting out the foamy toothpaste once he deemed his mouth brushed enough and once your face dripped of clear water. “Like, it’s one thing being an asshole, but being an asshole to my friend?” Jeno scoffed, shaking his head to demonstrate his displeasure. “—is that what happened?”

“More or less,” you mumbled into a face towel.

Jeno’s lips twitched as he patted his face dry. “Do I have to force it out of you?”

You lifted one shoulder to shrug.

“Wow, this is really bothering you if you’re this quiet,” he tilted his head, contemplating. “Was it Mark?”

“Be serious. Name one person at the party who hates Mark,” and you’d be crazy to not like the guy. Mark had never once done anything to warrant any negativity that could affect his person. He was probably one of the rare few who possessed a soul so pure that it was almost impossible for any hatred to fester in one’s heart. Hating Mark was like hating puppies for simply wagging its tail, happy to see you. Ridiculous.

Jeno’s nose wrinkled when he couldn’t name anyone. “Yeah, no. You’re right. Jimin, then?”

Jimin had her fair share of trouble in regards to people thinking badly about her; rooted from jealousy, of all things—insanely gorgeous Jimin. A charmer, not just by her sheer beauty, but also because of how approachable she was. A social butterfly—but her confidence in herself simply did not allow her to crumble underneath critical eyes just waiting to exploit a crack in her facade. She couldn’t care less of what the masses had to say about her, and you could only wish that you possessed some semblance of Jimin's self-assurance.

You shook your head, sighing deeply as your bottom lip caught in between the worrying edges of your teeth before letting it free, shiny with spit. “You’d laugh at me if I told you.”

You received a milder version of a frown from that, though you did clock the lingering look he gave your mouth. “Hey, believe it or not, I actually care about your feelings, so I promise—” Jeno sealed it with a swift ‘x’ his finger drew above his heart. Cross my heart and hope to die “—that I won’t make fun of you.”

Ah, fuck it. It’d be like ripping a band-aid off. Quick, painless and, hopefully, easy.

“It was you,” you said, quiet at first and then you rolled your eyes up to the ceiling and repeated it a bit louder this time: “The girls—they were talking about you and ‘their time’ with you, which was fine at first before we—y’know,” you rolled your wrist to the air in front of you to gesticulate the exact situation you’ve found yourself with Jeno. It looked complicated, and neither of you could make sense out of it, so you gave up, folding your arms.

“Anyway, I just… didn’t like how they make it sound like that’s all you’re good for?” You winced. You could have worded it way better. “Like you’re some sex object with no thoughts or feelings—” oh my god, shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. “and that essentially ruined my mood. Jesus. You should have heard how the girls were going on and on and on about your dick that could work miracles, apparently—actually, no, it would piss me off even more if I saw how uncomfortable you were, so I’m glad you weren’t there—what the hell are you smiling at?”

Jeno’s smile stretched—it’s a huge thing. Where it took up almost half of his face, eyes almost disappearing as it did, but they shone bright as ever. “You care about me,” he said, obviously delighted by the idea.

“Uh, no I don’t.”

Denying it didn’t shake him in the slightest. “Yes, you do.”

“You must’ve heard wrong.”

“I don’t know, my pure-tone audiometry scores have always been high.”

“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” you exhaled in defeat.

“I’m not,” Jeno laughed. “I’m just happy. I didn’t know you’d care this much about my rep. I already know that I am kind of a slut. That I got around a lot, and hearing you defend me and think I’m more than that… It’s—It’s really sweet of you.”

“Defend is kind of a stretch,” you admitted. The words left a sour after taste in your mouth that, for a second, if you were given the chance to turn back time, you would have done more. “I just stopped them from saying anything else.”

Sweet. That was the last word you’d ever thought of relating to your standing up for Jeno. You’ve been called many things when your bouts of aggression came out to play, especially when it came to your friends’ defense, but rarely anyone would call it, or you, sweet. Though, the way Jeno spoke it into existence… he seemed certain of his claim—mirrored it too—cheeks dusted a precious pink and lips curled in a curious blend of a bashful, yet gratified smile. Really, and if anything, he was the sweet one here. Jeno for sure had the face and disposition for it.

“Still, it’s something I really appreciate,” he assured, “I mean, you were thinking of me in that moment too, so by all means am I really flattered—”

“Oh, brother—”

“You’re a huge softie.” Jeno quickly scooped you up into his arms, much like how he did when you almost froze your nonexistent balls off from the creeping winter chill. Your cheek ended up being pressed to his chest once again, like Jeno just knew his pecs would calm you down which yeah. What the hell, sure. “Prickly on the outside, but soft and squishy on the inside.”

“You callin’ me a sea urchin?”

Jeno laughed. “Whatever you want—and, you care about me.”

You rolled your eyes. He’s never gonna let that go, was he? “Am I not supposed to?”

Jeno clicked his tongue. “I didn’t say that, but it’s nice to know that you do,” he said, voice doused with such tenderness that it didn’t come as a surprise that it bled through to show on his face, too.

“Yeah, well.” You evaded his gaze by gently pushing him away by the cheek, clearing your throat and hoping it would dissipate the climbing heat from your neck, up. Jeno’s arms fell from their secure hold around your waist, yet he still remained in close proximity—close enough that he might as well fuse himself to you. “If you’re done, I’m taking a shower.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Just take off your clothes before I change my mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a mock two-fingered salute.

The hot shower was a definite need in unwinding the tension in your shoulders. You retired to the living room after pulling on one of your looser sleep shirts and a pair of boy-shorts, and falling onto the couch in an ungraceful heap. You could very well pass out here, become Jeno’s problem to deal with while at it.

Speaking of, he sure was taking his sweet time.

“What’s taking so long,” you hollered. “Do you have a hot date or something?”

“Are you not my hot date?” He said and you whipped around, peering over the back of the couch where you could see Jeno in the kitchen, putting away the dishes and cutlery in their respective places.

“You got me there.” You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing?”

“I…” Jeno trailed off, prancing over to the fridge. “got you a cake.”

The main lights were off, the warmer accent lights providing an ample amount of light source. Watching Jeno move about, bathed in the soft glow, made the simple action of unboxing the dessert no bigger than the span of his hand more intimate than it should be. Maybe it was his apparent determination in making things more convenient for you was what had you looking at the sight with a rose-tinted lens. Or maybe you just wanted to eat the damn cake and heckling the guy was one way to get your hands on it faster.

“I don’t think it’s my birthday yet,” you said, charmed at the way he hobbled over with the said sweet treat, two dessert forks tucked into one of its sides in one hand and an empty wine glass to join you in drinking in the other. “Is this your way of making me feel better?”

“More or less,” Jeno acquiesced, carefully placing the dainty looking cake and glass on the table and then joining you in your comfort. “I know it’s still bothering you, but really, it’s okay. I’m used to it.”

And it's just like Jeno to check up on you, really. Always so conscientious when it came to you—with the expense of himself being a later thought—that you were starting to find it difficult to keep him at arm's length at times. He was just… so good. So inherently kind to anyone without expecting anything in return. It’s one of the things you liked about him. A paragon of all things good in the world. Not that you would ever admit it to his face, though perhaps you softening up was enough for anyone to figure out where you stood.

“Wish you weren’t used to it, though.” You said with a sad smile, kicking your legs up to lay them across Jeno’s lap. “You have the right to be mad at being gossiped like that.”

“I kind of brought that upon myself.” Jeno snorted with a hand on his nape, following suit and scooting closer to you for more comfort, and so you could fit into his side more. “But enough of that. How was the party, honey?”

He got a light smack on the chest for his cheek, though your own smile betrayed your actions, finding Jeno’s constant hovering kind of sweet. “It was still fun, among other things. My bad for cutting it short and dragging you along.” Jeno waved you off of the guilt and you were really thankful that he wasn’t at all bothered by you calling it a night. “So, the cake?”

With a hand on your ankle, Jeno reached over to pick it up.

There was something funnier about SpongeBob now that you were watching it as an adult. The jokes that flew over your head making much more sense with a fully developed brain were significantly funnier, especially with the buzz the cheap wine you had stocked for future events. Guard down, your muscles relaxing and letting the stress accumulated from tonight wash away with each sip from your glass.

Handing you the bento sized treat, Jeno had the face of an absolute winner when you read what was written in cream frosting on top of the powder blue cake.

“‘I’m sorry for having loud sex’,” you managed to say through your giggles. “Very on the nose, Jeno Lee.”

“I realized that I never really said sorry for that until tonight.”

“And cake was the way to go? I thought the sex was your version of an apology?”

Jeno lifted one shoulder for a lazy shrug. “Everybody loves cake?” And well, he wasn't exactly wrong. You loved cake as the next person on their birthday did, and strangely enough, it felt like such. The word ‘sorry’ got smudged from dipping his finger into the loopy writing and then lifted it towards your mouth.

If it were any other day, you would have snorted and batted Jeno’s hand away in favor of getting a proper mouthful with a dessert fork. However, it could be that time (and Jeno) had worn down that hardass exterior of yours to a certain point that you had no problem giving in without having to argue; circling your fingers around his wrist as your lips parted to indulge him. As expected, it was sweet. Butter cream, you thought as the more your tongue swirled around Jeno’s finger, watching his eyes grow wide and his mouth slacken, the sweeter it tasted.

“Good?” Jeno asked, voice strained as he continued to watch you work your mouth almost the same way you would when you would give his cock the same treatment. He kind of looked like he wanted to eat you. Savor you, actually, like you were a piece of honeyed heaven Jeno had the privilege of having you melt all over his tongue and swallow your very essence until the last drop. It gave you a rush, to say the least. Not to mention an ego-boost when a man this gorgeous could be so gone just for you.

In the background, Squidward cried out, ‘oh no! He’s hot!’

“Mhm,” you hummed, letting his finger go with a lewd pop before sticking your tongue out to show that there was nothing of the creamy icing left. And to fluster him, mostly, and it worked. “Wanna try?”

’loud sex’ was the next to get smudged, leaving ‘I’m for having’ still intact which didn’t really make any sense at face value. Though taking a quick sweep of the current situation, you weren’t too far off from Jeno ‘having’ you.

Jeno wasn’t able to give a proper answer, much less a word, as you mirrored what he had done without letting him have a proper taste. He did, however, get a taste of your growing impatience; wiping the dollop of icing onto his bottom lip, hooking a finger down his bottom teeth and tugging lower, and then prying his mouth wide enough to slither your tongue in for a downright messy kiss, making him groan. Jeno tasted of sugar, cream and the mint of his toothpaste. You wanted more. You needed more.

So it’s not entirely your fault that you were fast to give in to your carnal desires and how lucky you were that Jeno was there to meet you half-way.

Ten minutes later, Jeno wrestled you down on the couch, mumbling, “I thought you were tired?” into your hot, wet pussy.

“Oh, I am,” you moaned, twisting your fingers into his mussed up hair as he worked two of his thick fingers into you alongside his tongue. “But I can’t really fall asleep like thi—is—shit—Jeno! Fuck!”

A pleased hum had you shuddering as the softness of your thighs squeezed around Jeno’s insistent head. He pulled back the second your insides squeezed his fingers and you let out a frustrated groan. There’s a lazy grin on his face, lower face damp with a nasty cocktail of spit and your slick and never had you seen a man look so damn proud of being messy. Then again, you’ve noticed a pattern whenever you guys fucked; Jeno liked dragging it out to the point it was messy, so that checked out.

“Sure you can.” You would kill for an orgasm right now. Maybe sitting on his face would do the trick. If you could overpower the musclehead. “You wanna test how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out?”

A tempting offer, sure, just so you could prove him wrong, but the need to cum easily swayed your decision. That could be discussed and experimented on next time. You told him that much with a slight threatening edge to your tone, all the while canting your hips as you pushed his head down to get on with it. Though it seemed like Jeno was in a particularly stubborn mood tonight.

“Any reason why you’re being such an asshole?” you groused, still actively trying with all your might to suffocate him with your pussy, but he still wouldn’t budge. “I want to cum. Make me cum.”

“Oh, I know you do.” Jeno’s fingers were still buried in your wet heat, his cheek resting against your inner thigh. “But that depends on what you’re willing to do for me.”

Your pout deepened. “You used to be so nice.”

Jeno hummed, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. “I’m not hearing any offers.”

“A blowjob.”

“Oh c’mon, we both know you can do better than a blowjob,” he teased. “Besides, your gag reflex is almost non-existent—which, you’re welcome, by the way—where’s the fun in that?” And Jeno looked pretty smug about the changes he had trained into you.

“Two blowjobs,” you muttered, cheeks flaming hot because he wasn't exactly saying shit just to be funny.

The first time you got in between his thighs to suck his dick as thanks for the handful of times he ate the fuck out of you had been a disaster that if Jeno hadn’t stopped you from forcing yourself to swallow more of him, you would have ruptured your esophagus. In short, you had never been so mortified in your twenty-or-so years of living, ever, until that very day. Though the miscalculation was easily fixed after some time, gradually earning back your ‘pro-cocksucker’ title, from Jeno’s gentle, yet firm, guidance.

You really couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes. Or the fact that the absence of muscle memory almost got you killed.

“Do you wanna cum or not?”

“I’ll—“ you swallowed thickly as he curled his fingers, and then let out a soft, broken moan when his thumb worked slow circles around your clit. “I’ll ride you.”

Jeno visibly deflated as if he hadn’t been reduced to a desperate whining thing whenever you bounced on it like the many times before. “Any other offers?”

“What is this?” you groaned. The thing that got you the most was how casually Jeno spoke as if seeing you in this state; rendering you into putty wasn’t affecting him at all. “An auction for me to cum?” Well, there was one last trump card you had saved when time calls for desperate measures.

“Going once.” Jeno wiggled his eyebrows with a stupid grin. “twice—”

“Fine! I’ll ride you raw.”

Jeno, who was about to dip in for a kiss, froze, then let out an aborted laugh. “I didn’t say ‘give me a heart attack’. Jeez, it’s never delicate with you, huh? Always straight to the point.” You did become a different entity when you wantsomething, so he was somewhat right.

He took a good look at you just in case you were pulling his leg, which you understood, considering you were adamant with the usage of condoms even on birth-control. The fact that you laid still was enough of a clue-in that you were serious. Your roommate seemed to understand this and nodded, lowering himself to plant a quick and tender kiss above your eyebrow.

“Deal.”

And went lower and lower, buried his face deep into where you fingers tangled in his hair guided him towards and ate you out until the fruits of Jeno’s incessant mouth saturated his face all the way down to his neck.

“Our poor couch,” you laughed, breathless and hyperaware of the wet warmth dribbling out of your cunt; a lewd mixture of his cum and your slick sliding down Jeno’s thighs and effectively widening the stain’s circumference previously left before you had swung a shaky leg over his lap to act on your end of the deal.

“Definitely seen way too many things.” Jeno, who had his head resting on the top of the couch’s cushions huffed in amusement, lifted one eye open to indicate he had been listening. “It’s your turn to pay for steam-cleaning.”

It was such an unfunny sentence. An instant boner-killer if you were in the middle of fucking, yet the sluggish delivery had you laughing, loud and unrestrained, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to smother your giggles.

Aside from it being another inside joke birthed from conning him into paying for the first ever one, it did eventually become a once or twice a month’s occurrence when you didn’t bother moving the sex to somewhere more private like, let’s say, either of your bedrooms. Actions came with their own sets of consequences, yet you always found room to find humor in them. Embarrassing as they may be.

“At this point we should just buy a new one, don’t you think?” you wondered as you withdrew from your makeshift hiding place and pulled him in for a quick, but lingering kiss. It wasn’t enough for him, it looked like, chasing after your lips. Jeno didn’t get too far, with you playfully yanking him back by the hair to smile cheekily at him. “I’m starting to think you like dirtying our couch. Marking your territory, puppy?”

Jeno stayed quiet, but the reddening of his cheeks was very telling.

“Oh my God.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Listen—“

“Puppy—oh my goodness—that’s really precious,” you cooed, the same way Jaemin would if his end-goal was to annoy someone to the point they would consider inflicting bodily harm. “Maybe Hyuck was onto something.”

“Do not talk about another man while I’m inside you,” Jeno whined. “You’re horrible. Get off me. I don’t like you right now.”

“I said it was precious.” He didn’t even have the heart to reject a quick peck on the lips. “I think it’s cute—that you look like Dozy.”

Despite the clear displeasure, his response to your nails scratching at his scalp was almost instantaneous; he relaxed, sagging against the cushions to bask in the undivided attention you showered him with. He could very much fall asleep like this; your warm weight making him sink into the soft clutches of the sofa with your magic fingers weaving all of the stress out of him.

Which meant you wanted something, if you were being nicer than what Jeno was usually used to.

“You want something,” he voiced the thought, squeezing your hips. “What is it?”

And there it was: a smile that said you were about to get what you want. “I was being serious about a new couch.”

Jeno let his head fall back once more, pretty eyes slipping closed as he let out a puff of breath. “Okay. We’ll get a new one.”

The couch came less than two weeks later.

You weren’t religious by any means, but you sent your silent gratitude to God anyway for blessing your eyes with the wonderful view of your roommate studying the manual with eyebrows knit together in concentration and a matching sweet pout.

“You are so sexy to me right now,” you said from where you sat on the floor.

The TV was on, but neither of you were paying attention to the happenings of a show that had caught both your attention when you sourced the internet for any TV show recommendations. This one looked promising; action packed gore with an interesting enough story-line (Jeno’s words) and the rugged machismo of the drool-worthy male main character supporting it (your words), yet those factors weren’t enough to keep your attention span from waning when Jeno—less rugged, but still so devastatingly gorgeous—was about to assemble your new couch.

He responded in kind with a snort and a half-hearted roll of his eyes. “We both know damn well you’re only saying that because I paid for the entire thing.” A hand made its way to perch on his hip too and your greedy eyes drank in the way his muscles rippled from the movement.

You gnawed on the knuckle of your forefinger. Good lord.

In hindsight, Jeno was half right. Sweet-talking him could increase the chances of you running scot-free of doing any heavy work, and maybe Donghyuck had hit the nail on the head with the whole thing about stability being what you needed because what was more attractive than a man readily dropping that much money for a couch without thinking twice? Looking absolutely darling swathed in pastel blue sheets you convinced him to get, deep in a fervent search for a good replacement with his personal laptop perched above his thighs, and with you tucked into his side as a pretty accessory that would occasionally voice opinions.

For someone who didn’t sound too enthusiastic searching the world wide web for furniture, he sure was hell-bent on countering any of your sales pitch every time your eyes would land on a probable couch replacement. The heavy debate—for a fucking couch, of all things—lasted almost two hours, both of you at your wits end until you found one that ticked every requirement that had been brought up; namely, how the L-shape design granted much more space and how easy it would be to clean by yourselves.

There was a thoughtful pull to Jeno’s face as he cycled through the available colors. “Please tell me that’s the one.”

Jeno had made an affirmative noise. “Can you hand me my debit card?”

You had beamed and hopped to it, smugly handing him the piece of plastic with a haughty cross of your arms.

“I did offer to split the cost,” you countered good-naturedly, resting your chin on top of your folded arms and watching on in appraisal as Jeno got to work. “And offered to pay extra to get some people to assemble it for us but—”

“I can do it myself, thank you very much,” he grumbled, seemingly put off by the thought of you having to watch strangers with the same intensity as he was experiencing now. It puts a smile on your face. A smug little thing because nothing brightens your day than getting underneath Jeno’s skin when you could. A sulky Jeno, you’ve come to find out, was possibly the cutest gift to mankind since puppies and kittens and exploiting the otherwise infrequent possessive streak he claimed to not have was honestly gratifying when he could have anyone and everyone.

“Yeah? Your muscles aren’t just for show?”

He shot you a bland look. “You have first-hand experience, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you feigned thinking it over, tapping your chin with a finger. “Maybe I need a reminder. Care for a hands-on demonstration?”

Jeno shook his head with a soft grin. “Later. Think you could sit pretty without being a distraction until I’m done?”

The offhanded compliment left a warm glow to unfurl within your chest. From there, it spread to just about everywhere. Your cheeks, for one as Jeno just had the knack for flustering you, fizzling out to pleasant tingles reaching the ends of your toes and fingers. You were quite possibly losing it and yet Jeno has shifted his attention, completely honing in on fixing up the couch before sundown if and if you spare him of being a—his distraction.

“I’ll try,” you relented in almost a whisper. Jeno heard, of course, nodding slowly in response and once you were sure that was that, you rushed to the kitchen to whip something up for you both and shake off whatever that was.

Jeno took no time at all to get it all set up and it was a wonder why the manual when it was pretty straight forward, but you have your couch and you didn’t waste any time to settle down with Jeno for your early evening dinner.

Things promptly escalated the moment your plates were wiped clean. From your pawing at Jeno’s face, still wound up from the whole handyman thing, to unanimously deciding that you should probably take this to the bedroom. To whose bedroom became sort of a guessing game. Not one of you was entirely aware when it was important, but really, who was counting when it would always lead to sex anyway?

On a similar note, It was a miracle by itself that your combined bodily fluids hadn’t turned your old couch into a biohazard. The old thing has been through the wringer since you and Mark had bought it off of Craigslist with your first paycheck and retiring the old girl was just the right thing to do.

Bumping into things along the way, clothes ripped off in haste, like a hurricane tore through the hallway and your bedroom; as rushed as it all was, the sex was surprisingly on the more tender side of things tonight, which wasn’t uncommon, though those ‘tender’ times were mostly rooted from lazy morning sex; but it wasn’t quite that either. Jeno still fucked like he means it, that won’t ever change. Always precise with his movements wherein you would often joke inside your head that the Mathematics nerd in him probably calculated everything in his head, maximizing the output of pleasure jolting through your veins. Shit like that.

Your enjoyment, comfort, pleasure above everything else—that’s what sex was like with Jeno and granted, he got off from you getting off.

Well, most of the time.

Jeno didn’t give any warning when he rolled the both of you over, forcing a gasp out of you from the feeling of his cock plunging deeper and nudging against the spot that sent a hot flash of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I like you on top.”

“Oh, I bet.” You gripped around his girth like a vice, earning you a grunt and a hiss as the flesh of your hips dimple under the force of his long fingers. “You like having me do all the work?”

“I like—I like looking at you,” he admitted, breathless and face stricken with awe as he gazed upon you. Rough hands smoothed down from your hips to your ass then to your tensed thighs and encouraged you to take what you want with light measured strokes. “You’re even more beautiful like this.” Jeno’s breath hitched when you rocked back and forth, his breathing becoming more and more uneven with each sway of your hips.

“Drives me crazy sometimes. That you’re real. That you’re mine.”

The sincerity in his tone wasn’t anything new. How he looked saying that though… It’s something else entirely. There must be something in the air, perhaps due to the change of season as the temperature slowly climbed its way down to the negatives. You glimpsed outside the window and sure enough, flurries of white were making their floaty decent. The first snow fall of the year. Normally, you would be in a rush to get up close and personal, feel the biting cold of each snowflake kiss your cheeks.

By the looks of it, however, you don’t suppose you’d be able to get up any time soon. Not when Jeno’s strained grip on the gentle dips of your waist anchored you in place.

Mine.

You should be used to it. You’ve lost count of the times you would catch Jeno staring and if it were any other time, he would have ducked his head, pink in the face and embarrassed by the habit. That was the last thing he was in this moment, the foreign glean nestled within the depths of his rich gaze held no semblance to his would-be bashful state when he openly marveled at you.

Jeno was no stranger to seeing you bare of anything. He’s probably seen you naked more than you were clothed and yet his half-lidded eyes bore into your skin as if he was stripping each layer, trying his damnedest in finding a crack to slip under and see what you kept from anyone. It scared you, in a way that you wouldn’t really mind if he flayed you open and carved a space for himself in between your ribs, right next to you beating heart.

You were hot all over. Well, hotter than you were prior and stickier. Whether it was due to the nuisance you bedded on the regular showing that all control was reigned by Jeno still—feet planted on the bed, meeting each and every downstroke with increased intensity by his a heavy-handed guidance, showing you how he liked it—or having the very same man as a singular audience, but with a gaze as imposing as a crowd deep in the reverence of their worship. So intimate that the hair at the back of your neck rose at Jeno’s easy smile—sweet. Sickeningly so. All too consuming—and how easy it was for him to look at you like that.

It was too much.

You felt impossibly bare than you were in the moment, vulnerable under Jeno’s searching eyes that you started to shake, and a whimper, bordering on a sob, broke free from your tightly clamped mouth as your resolve gradually broke down. Fortunately, Jeno didn’t think too deeply on the matter, taking it as you simply wrung out from burning most of your energy (and desperate to cum) as he sat up just as you were about to fall forward. He gathered you in his arms and flipped you both over, making sure you landed gently and minding your head, no matter how plush the pillows were.

That brought forth another rush of feelings making it harder to breathe as your roommate settled with a paced rhythm. Slow, deep, purposeful where, for a second, you started to believe your insides would have to mold around the shape of his cock, where it left Jeno to be the only one capable of filling you to the brim. There was a tell-tale sting beneath your eyelids. You couldn’t even remember squeezing your eyes shut, but you were glad for the knee-jerk response kicking in. The stinging was felt in your nose too, and you were all choked up the next second when you met Jeno’s heady gaze.

You had to thank the heavens that timing was on your side for once, because at one pointed roll of Jeno’s pelvis you came crashing down with a shrill cry. Tears streamed hotly down the sides of your face as you let out a wet moan, crushing your nose into the crook of his neck while his movements gradually went from measured to frantic as he pulled you impossibly close to him, and fucked you to completion.

There was someone calling after you. Jeno sounded so far away until the gentle pats on your cheek reeled you back. It took a few seconds for you to refocus your vision the moment you opened your eyes. Catching your attention first was the concerned furrow of your roommate’s eyebrows, down to his eyes rounded with the same emotion, the corners of his mouth pulled taut.

He said your name again. “Are you okay?” Jeno asked with his hands cupping your cheeks as the pads of his thumbs wiped the remnants of the salty tracks beneath your eyes away. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, definitely not hurt,” you croaked, snorting softly at the dubious look on his face. “Just… overwhelmed.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Your answer was quick. “Good.” Jeno was unconvinced by the looks of it, but you reassured him when you covered one of his hands with yours. “Trust me, I’m a nurse. I would know if you did hurt me.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

That got Jeno to chuckle, the tension visibly leaving his broad shoulders as he sighed. “Yeah, okay. You’re totally fine if you’re talking like that.” He bent down to press his lips to your eyebrow for a few seconds before he sat right back up. “Right, I’ll be right back. Want something to drink? Eat?”

The warmth Jeno’s touch provided stayed even when pulling his hands away. “Just water’s fine, thank you.”

Jeno left the room after making himself half-decent, pulling up a pair of clean boxer briefs, leaving you alone to will your frantic heartbeat into slowing down as you curled around his pillow, pulling it close to your chest.

“...he’s one of my more interesting patients so far. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought that damn phone of his was an extension of his arm.”

So far so good. Jeno hadn’t questioned you once about the moment you had and went about the usual post-sex groove of aftercare and clean up. That at least helped you out of that weird headspace you were in and you weren’t as keyed up as you were while you told Jeno about an interesting week you had at the hospital.

A college senior who had sustained a collapsed lung from a multiple-vehicle collision. While the case itself wasn’t interesting considering you had scrubbed in to deal with cases similar to the twenty-two-year-old’s, the patient himself was. Normally, you weren’t one to prolong any conversation with inpatients, though you supposed his weaponized cuteness was effective enough that the Hippocratic oath had been momentarily forgotten as he expanded on what he had overheard from the Nurse’s Station right outside his room.

At the end of the day, he was still a stranger and the most intimate interaction you’ve had with him was cleaning his stitches, changing his dressings and reminding him of his care plan. Even then, he had no place in your personal life where you’d mull over the consequences of telling him. Once Dr. Kim gave him the clear to go home, you probably won’t see him again.

“I only gave him your first name, but he already found you on Instagram.” You burrowed yourself further under the thick covers. “He said he ‘approved’ of you. Whatever that means.” With a giggle, you shifted so you laid on your side and came face to face with Jeno already looking at you with those eyes of his, the same way he did when he had you bent over the coffee table.

Your heart stuttered for a moment, gracing him with a wry smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jeno, perpetually pretty no matter the situation, and confused, batted his eyelashes—on purpose or not, you weren’t too sure—full lips jutting out further into a pout. “Like what?”

“Like—” Like that. Like I’m everything. Jeno, for as long as you’ve known him, had this sense of wonder in him. Maybe that was the reason why his eyes, more often than not, lingered for what was considered socially acceptable, yet you couldn’t get why you were always the subject of his fascination, nor why you deserved such gentleness from a guy like him. You’ve always thought he would be much better off with someone who’s less of a hardass; someone good, someone—anyone who didn’t share the ugly parts of you that were ‘too much’ to handle.

“Just—” I just don’t get it. I don’t think I want to get it. “I’m going to gouge your eyes out.”

He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Do not do that? Maybe?”

“No promises,” you said blithely, turning your back to him and baffled, wondering why your face—out of nowhere—felt so hot to the touch, why your heart raced. Why now of all times? Pillow talk wasn’t anything new. Sharing the bed was a regular happenstance. It was normal. This was normal, but why were you acting like a total school girl about it?

All the niggling thoughts came to a screeching halt at the feeling of Jeno’s arm going over your middle to pull you in, letting out an involuntary sigh as you melted into the warmth of his embrace.

“Goodnight,” he said, trailing off in a hushed tone at the syllables of your name.

Eyes squeezed shut, you let out a deep breath. “Goodnight, Jeno.”

Pleased by your response, Jeno crowded impossibly closer until he was flush against your back, pressing his lips to your nape and relaxed after. His hand settled over the curve of your breast, the tips of his fingers splayed where it tapers flat and where your heartbeat was as its strongest. And If he could tell the difference between the gentle thumping of sixty beats per minute from what was considered abnormal, he didn’t bring it up and instead tucked his bent knees right behind yours.

Yeah. Totally normal.

Sleep evaded you, finding yourself awake in the dredges of the night unlike Jeno, who was off in the deepest end of slumber.

You didn’t know why or how you were awake. For as long as you were alive, nightmares were never a problem. Your dreams were on the weirder side, yes, but they never shocked you into lucidity. You didn’t have the need to pee, drink or have a quick whatever-the-fuck-time-is-it snack. You just were, unlike Jeno who had it easy, knocking out cold fifteen minutes tops no problem. Though dead asleep—even breaths with the slow rise and fall of his chest, laying flat on his back—it’s like Jeno can’t help but still face you, like you just had this magnetic pull that attracted each and every atom housing Jeno’s attention.

He looked so peaceful. It’s almost unfair he was still gorgeous in this state, mouth open and all. Handsome face void of anything that would sour the appeal which wasn’t possible. It’s as if he simply wasn’t allowed to be ugly, wasn’t allowed to lack in areas he was known for, wasn’t allowed to be less than perfect. A burden, weighing on yourself more than it did Jeno, you had resigned to when you couldn’t find it in yourself to come up with things to complain about.

Jeno existed and you were fine with it. Jeno, stubborn but meant well Jeno, found plenty of ways of integrating himself in your space and you were fine with it. Each second, each minute and each hour, Jeno was there and somehow, you didn’t think it was enough. Even as the hours stretched out into days, weeks. Months. Would it be so bad if Jeno was there—here with you for years to come?

Then it hit you all at once—like a shock to your heart, granting you with a clarity so startling that you looked at Jeno. Like, really took him in as much as you were able to in the dim glow of the full moon filtering through the sheer curtains.

Since when did wanting absolutely nothing to do with Jeno evolved into wanting him all to yourself? You couldn’t put the entire blame on him. Sleeping with Jeno (and regularly at that) was a risk you were very familiar with. No thanks to your gargantuan AO3 history when fan-fiction was the only thing that kept you going through the grueling college experience. Friends-with-benefits had been a filter staple that guessing which outcome you’d get became sort of a game. Some good, some bad and some were so emotionally devastating that you swiped back and pretended pain never existed.

Now that you wore the shoes of every FWB protagonist, you weren’t too sure of what the endgame could be. You could admit that you went in blind with the false pretense of it being a temporary set-up when either of you grew bored of each other. But the months had bled from one to the other and it was still you and Jeno, and whatever flat surface there was left to defile.

From the gentle sweep of his eyelashes, the bridge of his strong nose, the perpetual pout of his lips with sharp angles and soft contours framing all of that—that right there was a face you wouldn’t hate waking up to in the mornings to come. Better if those mornings weren’t just the aftermath of a wild night, but nights where one of you would grow tired from finishing a few episodes of a gory thriller before eleven PM. Nights where one of you would stay up waiting for the other to get back from overtime. Or nights where you simply would spend hours just laying in bed all warm and cuddled up before sleep inevitably took you.

And as you laid on your side, eyes boring into Jeno’s sleeping face, hoping that you get the good ending out of this messy start, you knew you were absolutely truly and well fucked.

VI.

“If you stay the night, you could change my mind.”

You were five seconds away from killing yourself.

You’ve been here before. More times than you would have preferred, if you had to be honest, where Mark and yourself would set up camp on the island counter. A large plate of something to snack on (cookies this time) doubling as a conversation buffer and keeping Mark occupied while you’d do most of the talking.

Not a word has been said. Not a peep. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Mark’s unease with your unusual silence was made apparent by his treacherous balancing on two of the wooden barstool’s legs. Truly a perfect example why women lived longer than men.

Something was up. For one, you were tight-lipped, which wasn’t a good sign. Mark’s head would have been done in with your longwinded tangents right about now; where words would have lost their meaning as he eventually tuned you out. Which, sure, whatever. You always got straight to the point anyway and he only greenlights the ranting as it was a way for you to blow off some steam, no matter if it was the third time you’ve complained how impossible it was to unglue Jeno from his computer to eat.

Mark didn’t need to think too long about the possibilities. He got his answer right as the front door opened.

“Hey, Mark.”

Though he wasn’t at all prepared for the awkward as fuck silence. One could imagine Mark’s surprise when you didn’t spare your roommate the acknowledgement as you pointedly kept your attention on the plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Jeno sounded pleasant enough, yet you went stiff when he shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing himself a bottle of kombucha. The side-eye you got from Mark was diabolical, yet he returned Jeno’s greeting with his usual brightness as if to assure him that nothing was amiss. Both men left it at that and Jeno quickly disappeared behind his door with a click, letting you relax.

You flinched when Mark did a full body turn so fast that it could rival the speed of light, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Dude, what the hell did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

Mark’s gaze turned sharp and stared at you like you were stupid. Maybe you were. No, you definitely were, with all things considered. “Jeno ignored you,” he hissed. “He’s never that petty. Donghyuck treats pissing him off like an olympic sport and you’ve never seen Jeno lose his cool. He’d let you know if you’re pushing it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because Jeno could just punch the shit out of you. Have you seen him?”

“Jeno’s hot bod has nothing to do with this—and stop changing the subject!” Mark snapped, swiping a cookie from the tray, took a bite and jabbed the remaining half in your direction accusingly with a muffled: “something happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s exactly what people say when something has happened,” Mark quipped, crumbs flying out of his mouth. “I bet you did something.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“And if I stab you with this cookie?”

“Do it, you won’t,” you challenged. “You can’t. Because it’s a fucking cookie.”

His gaze narrowed and for a second, you believed he’d figured out a way to weaponize a food of all things.

“You’re giving me gray hairs here,” he popped half of the sweet treat into his mouth instead, biting down with an audible crunch. “Why’d you call me over anyway?”

“Because of that,” you said with a resigned sigh, pointing to the direction of Jeno’s room. “And I called for your girlfriend, actually—y’know, for a change, but you showed up instead, so.”

“Oh.” Mark blinked, shoulders relaxing. “well, she’s out at the moment. Took Ziggy to her grooming appointment so she sent me.” She sent me, he said like he was simply there to carry out her responsibilities when she couldn’t, no questions asked. Which, yeah, maybe—but not exactly. Mark was just game for anything (more when his girlfriend is involved), though it brought you great relief that he loved her that much to potentially be an extension of herself. Jealousy would be the death of you one day.

That’s not to say you were happy by the circumstances. You were expecting girl-time, and here you were given a man that was considered a stand-in during your bi-weekly Girls’ Night. Close enough.

Momentary panic crossed his face when you let a grimace slip through. “Try me! I’m wise enough.”

You scoffed. “Your wisdom is about the size of a grain.”

“And yet I’m the one in a stable relationship,” he pressed. “I think I’m qualified to tell you things.”

“Fuck you,” you groused. Because he was right, and nothing grinds your gears more than Mark Lee being right while dangling his picture-perfect love life right in front of your face.

You were well acquainted with the intricacies of Murphy’s Law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and the start of your downfall happened a few mornings after the earth-shattering realization that you had not only desired Jeno carnally, but also desired him… not-so-platonically. You felt sick to your stomach just thinking about it. Or maybe those were butterflies partying it up in your guts because they obviously were still you in some way: ridiculously enamored by a gorgeous man.

The morning had been a quiet affair. Quieter than usual, is what you could describe the chilly start of your Saturday. Quieter than what you were used to even with the groggy aftermath of last night, though you were sufficiently energized for the regularly scheduled back-and-forth before the stillness fell in place again, with the exception of the range hood sucking up all the smoke from what sizzled on the pan.

It was your day-off and Jeno still had the luxury of whether or not he’d go to the office unless necessary. From the lackadaisical slump to his frame, you figured he had all the time in the world today.

“Isn’t this mine?” Words came first and actions followed with Jeno’s arms winding loosely around your waist, one of his hands tugging at the hem of his hoodie you pulled out from his wardrobe, his chin hooked over your shoulder.

You woke up freezing that day and the weather application had said to bundle up, so you ended up clawing through his clothes since you did end up falling asleep in his room. It just so happened his hoodie was the first thing you had blindly grabbed in haste. Your feet were quick to get cold, so you made the detour to your room for your thickest and fluffiest pair of socks. Sure the look of the herringbone flooring was nice, but lord did it almost freeze your toes off.

Jeno simply hummed when you told him so, lingered for a moment, then left you to do your thing with a gentle pat to your tummy and started on both your coffees.

“What? No tea for me?” You mused when he took two mugs out from the cupboard, one of them being your favorite one, and plucked out two pods from the stack of them, no teabag in sight. “I thought you were trying to wean me off of coffee?”

“I’m feeling generous today,” he said with a teasing lilt and left it at that, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Your stomach grumbled as the last of the modest spread of food was placed on the dining table, wincing at the terrible screech the chair made when you scooted closer. Sweetened medium roast hits your nostrils, your favorite coffee mug emitting a dull ‘thunk’ when Jeno placed it right beside your hand.

“You made it just how I like it,” you said after a tentative sip, lips pressed against the mug’s rim.

Jeno snorted softly as he reached for the maple syrup. “You notice that now? Were the coffees I made for you each morning different from that one?” He nodded towards your cup.

“No. I guess I never really had the time to think about it,” you admitted, sheepish. “I don’t remember showing you how, either.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jeno shrugged, feeding himself a forkful of the fluffy scrambled eggs. He hummed in delight. Just how he liked it. “I watched you make it a few times, it’s really not that complicated.”

You often rushed through mornings at home to judge whether or not the morning coffee on the counter was up to taste. The ratio between bitter and sweet? Who has the time when you’ve got to get to the hospital before you do your rounds? Still, you had a window of a few minutes to notice how Jeno had waited each time for you to get a few sips in before transferring your coffee into a thermos to take on your way out. You don’t remember getting a thermos. One in your favorite color either. Christ, were you having a goddamn meltdown at the dining table?

“You’re always rushing in the morning,” Jeno explained and proved once again that he was quite the observer. “‘figured I’d make your mornings a bit more convenient.”

And there it was: the convenience of it all.

While, yes, work had left you exhausted like never before, it also had been a small act of mercy that had kept you distracted and away from the demons that were waiting to be acknowledged. Those demons being anything in relation to the current predicament you were facing: Jeno. Your shifts at the hospital had been draining enough as it was that there was never any free time to think about anything.

Statistics had kept its annual consistency in seeing a significant increase in casualties the closer it got to the most wonderful time of the year. People in a perpetual state of haste in hopes of getting everything in order before the holidays. You might as well find a permanent place in the trauma department from the amount of overtime you did that your brain had been stuck in work mode until the patient influx had dwindled down.

Sure, you’ve managed to survive what could be considered the hospital’s Annual Armageddon, but there was no way in hell were you going to survive the horrors that await: being alone with your thoughts.

This was where Jeno came in. Like a stream, your thoughts of him were continuous. They ebbed and flowed and it seemed there was no end to it. On some days, they would roll around in your head, or go round and around as a microwave would; heat up or explode; whichever would be better to your state of mind. The point was, despite wanting that part of your brain—the one responsible for filtering any Jeno-related thoughts—to stop thinking, you couldn’t. You could not stop daydreaming, could not stop the ‘what if’s’—what if this (whatever this is) could become something more?

Convenience was what led you to this point.

The convenience of Jeno being at the right place and the right time. Of him taking the very first step and dragging you into something that was supposed to be casual, no-strings-attached and nothing more. This entire thing was supposed to be just a convenience to you. Jeno was supposed to be a convenience to you; in a way he’d be there if you needed help, he’d be there to fuck when you wanted, be there for—well, being there, when you needed him to be and keep you company. But…

But.

As the days blended to the next, it—he became so much more than that.

Wanting more than what you already have has never been your style. One could give you a hand and you’d justify why grasping onto one or two fingers was more than enough. Perhaps it had something to do with how you were raised, at least, that’s what you had thought because as you sat across Jeno, ignorant of being the very cause of your tumultuous state of mind, greed reared its ugly head.

It rose up your throat—that thick, all-consuming feeling of wanting something so much to the point of insanity. What should have been casual evolved into something more than what you bargained for, but you knew enough that there was nothing casual about not just wanting the convenience that came with Jeno. Nothing casual about wanting more than being another meager notch on Jeno’s bedpost. You wanted him—body, mind, soul and heart. And it’s not as if developing feelings wasn’t allowed. It was never brought up in the months the friends-with-benefits thing went on, sure, but it still felt… wrong.

Here you were, a handful of seconds away from baring your bleeding heart to him, only to pause when another thought occurred to you.

Did Jeno even want the same things you did?

No.

Definitely not.

You had no business asking about the other girls he could be seeing, but it was made clear Jeno was fully committed to follow the lifestyle of a Casanova. Being tied down wasn’t likely part of his plans as of the moment. More or less, you were probably just a phase he was slowly trying to get out and you wouldn’t be the one forcing him into settling down. Even so, it still hurts, that you will never be anything more than just a friend he gets to fuck on the regular.

And admitting that was a blow to your chest, really—like it caved in on itself, the jagged pieces of your rib cage piercing your heart. You had no idea how to make it less painful as you shot a longing look in your roommate’s direction who remained oblivious to your internal war against yourself and your feelings.

That day was seared into the recesses of your brain. How Jeno looked when you had told him this couldn't go on any longer, that you should stop, all the while being in the comfort of his embrace while you washed the dishes.

Your hands went rigid under the stream of water from the tap as Jeno stiffened behind you. Slowly you turned around in place, only for a wounded noise to lodge itself in your throat at the stricken look on his face. Confused, lost… hurt? Maybe? No, that wasn’t it. Disappointed was more apt, losing another conquest could do that to a guy, you think, could do that to you, if you were being honest; losing something that could have been good for you.

“Why?” he croaked.

“It—It just doesn’t feel right anymore.”

In a sense that sleeping with him while harboring so much warmth and fondness for a man so gentle and kind felt like you were taking advantage of him: that if you couldn’t have his heart, then his body would be the balm to soothe the burn reality left you with. You felt so much for Jeno Lee, but you knew you deserved better than this, that you were more than a placeholder for the person who would get the opportunity of a lifetime having him wholly, and he deserved better than unknowingly taking part in your desire-fueled fantasies of domesticity.

Sweet Christ, look at you. There must be something wrong with your brain if the synapse of neurons made you sound like some no-name poet from the Romantic Period. Or maybe you were ovulating, but that was neither here nor there.

The silence made you want to crawl out of your skin. You’ve never known a silence so uncomfortable and that was saying something when Mom raised hell the morning after she had opened the door to your childhood bedroom and found you with a boy. She was eerily silent after Dad had told you a less than flowery rendition of ‘The Birds and The Bees’, and from then on, you’ve learned to never piss off Mom—or ask Dad to explain in that clinical way of his.

Things should have returned to their normal state now that casual sex was off the table; how they should have been if you weren’t the least bit attracted to your roommate, or if you knew better than to let lust cloud your better judgement. With how life has been treating you lately, it won’t ever be that simple. Not when lines were crossed over and over again.

“We’re okay, right?” You had asked Jeno one day. Just for the hell of it. The answer was pretty fucking obvious when he sat at the farthest end of the couch, putting as much distance as he could.

It took a moment or two for your ex-fuck-buddy to answer in that gruff way of his when the last thing he wanted to do in this moment was make small-talk with the girl that cramped his style which, okay. Fair enough. You wouldn’t want to talk to yourself either.

“Yeah,” he said, looking straight ahead and his face drawn into a careful mask of neutral. “why wouldn’t we be?”

Because you won’t look at me. You don’t want to be near me, like I carry the fucking plague, or you pretend that I’m not there even though I caught you glancing at me loads of times. Show me something else besides indifference. Because it’s like I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what it is. You won’t tell me. I don’t think you ever will, and it’s killing me. That I can’t even make things right.

There was a lot you wanted to say. You wanted to argue, never mind if all he had for you was eyes full of disdain as his voice, normally even and soft-spoken, rose and rose until it became a screaming match. At least then Jeno wouldn’t shut you out, if it meant trading peace for barbed conversations that would be uncomfortable at best because you’ve never experienced a silence so cold, and made apparent by the space between you.

You wouldn’t expect anything less when you took away Jeno’s blinding smiles. Always filled with warmth, it was proven hard to live without once you’ve gotten a taste, what it was like on the receiving end of his affections he had so easily given. Though you knew the sun would, at some point, take its blinding light somewhere else.

Shit pretty much hit the fan after that, and you’ve accepted that the not-so-but-still silent treatment was well deserved. Didn’t mean you had to like it because this was getting ridiculous.

It was like the world was out to get you for your unwarranted fuck-up. You thought Annual Armageddon was bad? Try another wave of that—double the amount of patients to the point you were forced to spend several nights camping in one of the designated on-call rooms.

Your peers had taken notice of your tank in mood, which wasn’t exactly a problem. Your work performance was still exceptional and up to the hospital’s standards, However, interns, residents, and attendings couldn’t really say the same. Not when they’ve taken the brunt of your less than stellar attitude. The interns especially, which you thought was necessary. If you want competent people running a hospital, instilling the fear of God in them would do the trick.

However, that did not go without consequences.

Karmic retribution had been quick to get your ass handed to you in the form of a grumpy geriatric who had lashed out after you told him he couldn’t be discharged just yet. He was still recovering from a hip replacement and wouldn’t be able to leave for a week at least; or if he made quick progress with physical therapy. The old man ripped you a new one even with the absence of your abrasiveness.

Needless to say, after quietly excusing yourself, you hid in the floor’s storage unit and cried.

As if that wasn’t enough, you almost cost Chenle his budding trauma surgeon career after an error that almost had his patient coding. He reassured you it was fine, that you were okay after the apologies spilled from your lips once the clock stopped, but you knew he was taking this harder than you were, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Understandable. It was Chenle’s first ever solo surgery with Dr. Qian’s supervision and you almost fucked it up for him.

You had also hid and cried, a common theme these days.

All because you were still preoccupied with the awkward situation at home (if you can still call the apartment that), still hurt that you were back to square one with your roommate who refused to step foot into the same room as you.

“You were right,” you ground out as you untied the surgical mask. There were specs of blood on your O.R issued scrubs and a damp and warm spot somewhere along the hem of your pants that you refused to acknowledge until you were in the showers.

It had been one rough case after another; this particular one with Sungchan had the team searching for the source of the bleeding longer than it usually took. It left you tired and in dire need of a scalding shower. You wanted to go home and forget the antiseptic smell of the O.R with the hint of iron that had squirted onto anyone that had stood close to the sterile field.

“With what?” Sungchan was just a harrowed, looking a little less put together being the one who held the suction as you helped Dr. Jung patch up the rupture.

“You know what.” The whole casual sex thing biting me back in the ass? But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of reminding him.

Sungchan blinked, then squinted, tilting his head. “No I don’t, actually.”

The metal bin makes a clang as you roughly shoved inside the single-use gown and gloves. You stood to your full height, looked him dead in the eyes and repeated gravely: “you were right,” and started walking, leaving him there staring at your back, wildly confused.

“With what?!”

This was definitely some form of punishment. It had to be. It’s no coincidence that it started right when Jeno decided to minimize any sort of contact and it wasn’t as if you tried to gain back what you once had before you decided top open your big fat mouth and said ‘hey, maybe we should stop fucking around and act like normal housemates!’. You really did, offering home-cooked meals as an olive branch, placing orders for his favorite snacks on rotation, doing his laundry. Folding them too without being told to—stuff like that. You even venmo’ed him half of what he spent for the couch.

If he had a hand in making the smaller inconveniences of life easier, might as well do the same for him too.

It did something. Sort of melted the icy wall he put up, low enough where clipped conversations were had at least. Still, your roommate had still kept his distance, not to mention his smile wasn’t quite the same. You hadn’t expected him to take it that hard and for a moment, you thought that perhaps there was a chance that he may also—no way. You immediately bat that train of thought away. He probably just missed the idea of having a warm body within his reach.

Which was a funny possibility when you missed him. Just as much, definitely more than just his body which was surprisingly easy to admit. You really never learn to value something once you’ve carelessly let it slip it through your fingers—until it was too late, and fuck do you miss Jeno. Having him close in a way; in the kitchen, dancing around each other as either breakfast, lunch dinner heats away on the stove. Doing the separating of whites, blacks, greys and color for laundry when your schedules align. Recuperating on the couch after a long day, preferably, with your head on Jeno’s lap while he ran nimble fingers through your hair.

You missed the easy companionship solidified by living together and you were so fucking scared that you might lose that too.

It took some time getting used to, walking into a quiet apartment again. No six foot something tall man with puppy eyes’ head popping up from the couch with a smile so warm you wouldn’t know what the cold felt like balls deep into the winter season.

The apartment was warm though, the thermostat set at a desired toasty temperature matching the warm glow of the accent lights as you padded deeper into the clean space. Not a thing was out of place. Cleaner, definitely, judging by the neatly arranged cushions on the couch and a throw blanket you had picked out with him tastefully draped over the arm rest. Jeno’s doing, no doubt.

Walking into the kitchen got your stomach rumbling, reminding you of how hungry you were. The last thing you ate was a haphazardly put together turkey sandwich you had made in a rush that morning, along with your coveted coffee in a thermos, which—you’ve just realized—had never stopped coming. Each and every morning on days where you had work, they waited to be taken along without fail. Meaning there was still a chance of whatever there was left to pick up from this mess you’ve made.

But coffee, though tempting, wasn’t what you needed right now, nor did you think it would stop your tummy’s incessant growling. Exhausted as you were, you were determined to whip up something quick yet filling. Like a vegetable omelet, or something, with a few slices of sour bread toast. There was still a tub of kimchi Mark’s mom had asked (well, demanded) him to give you. Yeah, your mouth was already watering at the thought of a hot, home cooked meal.

Your backpack falls heavily onto one of the dining chairs, an aran-knit cardigan you wore under your padded coat slung over behind it. You reached for the sky to stretch. Damn, you’d kill for another hot shower, but food first, then you could wash away the weight from today and hopefully knock right out into a dreamless sleep.

Halfway towards the refrigerator was where you noticed it, one singular thing off about the otherwise spotless kitchen: the lone saucepan sitting on top of one of the burners. It’s the one you used when you had three or more people coming over for dinner. You were no stranger finding Jeno playing chef in the kitchen considering he had more time on his hands where his work had a more sporadically built schedule. A heartwarming end to your day, truly, coming home to—well, a home. One you have steadily built with him.

There was soft tofu stew in the covered saucepan, the metal still warm to the touch. As if Jeno just knew the exact minute you would be home to kill the fire and give it enough time to cool down a little so you could eat without burning your mouth. You turned ravenous on days like this and he knew. Jeno knew—knows you like the back of his hand at this point. Even when he wasn’t obligated to know the little details of your person.

As you sat right beside your work bag, you took a tiny sip of the red broth. It’s good as expected, you’ve never dared to expect anything less when it came to Jeno’s competence in the kitchen. The blunt edge of your spoon cuts the tofu seamlessly in half, a pleasant surprise. Jeno preferred tofu that was firmer, yet he made sure to incorporate your preferences.

It was two bites in when the preceding sting of your eyes and nose came. Tears soon blurred your vision, and then you were full on crying into your hearty serving of soft tofu stew. Why wouldn’t you? When the man who acted like he wanted nothing to do with you still went out of his way to look after you, keep you in his thoughts when he should have left you alone.

You hurt him after all, but Jeno had always been a conscientious bastard, always putting you first—above everyone else. No matter if you were the world’s biggest asshole to him.

It’s odd; being back in your room after another sobbing session in your bathroom (because god forbid a woman let out all those pent up emotions). There was no overzealous puppy in human form to greet you, or hover around while you were left to your own devices before you were eventually pulled into bed, a heavy, warm weight pressing you into the sheets.

Your bed felt bigger than it actually was. Emptier despite the handful of pillows you had. The thermostat remained untouched, yet you felt colder without anyone taking the extra space beside you and you had already switched to a thicker duvet for the season. Maybe you were going crazy for real this time.

And because you were nothing but consistent, tears had once again lined your eyes, until you had drifted off to sleep with a deep ache settling itself between your ribs. Wishing that upon waking up, you’d be in the past—before you had fucked it all up just for the sake of self-preservation.

In retrospect, maybe that had been selfish on your part: shutting something down before it even started because you were afraid of getting your heart torn right out of your chest and stomped on right in front of you. If things had gone your way, you wouldn’t have woken up still in the present day feeling like absolute shit, wouldn't have called in sick to your unit manager and charge nurse, and wouldn't have then begged for Mark’s girlfriend (now Mark himself. Who had his day off) to come over and talk you through your dilemma.

Fucking hell. Feelings were hard.

You were a shell of a woman after saying your piece. “He won’t even talk to me—won’t even tell me what I did wrong,” you said quietly. “I guess I thought I was doing the right thing. Ending things before it gets too messy. I mean, I don’t want to hold him back, y’know? Finding the right girl for him ‘cause she sure ain’t me.”

“Well, you did make the decision for him without even sitting him down to talk about—about what again?”

“Were you even listening?” you whined, “I got into an F-W-B arrangement with him even if I knew the risks and I developed feelings for him anyway.” You lay your cheek on the cold surface of the island counter to look even more pitiful in Mark’s eyes, who seemed rather pensive. “Seriously, where the fuck did you find Jeno? And why am I kinda crazy about him.” ‘Kinda’ was definitely underselling it, but it was funny to you anyway, chuckling to yourself.

Mark? Not so much. It did, however, snap him out of whatever subdued spell he was in. “Wait, huh?”

“What?” You sat up straight yourself, perplexed by the odd reaction. “What do you mean by that ‘huh’?”

“Waitwaitwait—lemme run by that again—” He sounded a little frazzled. “You were fucking casually on the side, then you fell in love—”

Your cheeks warmed. “Developed feelings—”

Mark gave you a look. “Fell in love with him—same fuckin’ thing, man—and you feel shitty about it and ended things? Is that right?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

The both of you ended in a staring contest. Until Mark broke the streak when he pressed his lips together and got that look you hated so much on his face.

You groaned. “Mark.”

“What?” he said, copying your whiny tone.

“I don’t like that look.” You squinted at him as he pointed to himself in ‘who? Me?’ gesture, widening his eyes for that full faux innocent look. “Like you know something I’m supposed to know too, but you aren’t telling me because you secretly get off on that momentary superiority complex you get when you know more than I do and will definitely use it against me.”

“Well, yes.” Mark was so smug about it too.

“I graduated with better grades than you, F-Y-I.” You countered, knowing it had nothing to do with anything, but you said it anyway to make yourself feel better under your best friend’s gloating.

The annoyance melted away eventually and you were left slumped against the counter, your chin resting on top of your folded arms as you pouted in silence. You could feel Mark’s beady eyes boring into your side profile, so you were forced to talk.

“What should I do, Mark?”

“You know what I think?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Mark reached over to pinch your cheek, laughing softly when you swatted at him. “I think you should do the adult thing and talk to him about it.”

“I’ve tried,” you mumbled. He shot you a blank look, aware of your tendency to avoid anything that involves talking. You know, by running away, but that was the old you and dealing with a grudge-filed Jeno wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. “I’ve tried!” you repeated, indignant this time. “but Jeno’s… slippery.”

A shit-eating grin slipped onto his face. The exact one a thirteen-year-old would get making unprompted dick jokes. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to talk to someone who’s just as good as running away?”

“By force?” He answered rather quickly, like it was obvious. “You’ve always been good at cornering people.”

As if it could be that easy. Your roommate could be just as stubborn when he wanted to be. Like a fucking boulder that was on all fronts impossible to move by sheer willpower alone. Though you still let the thought marinate for exactly fifteen minutes since Mark had left you with a mysterious smile you had half the mind swipe away with a punch before slamming the door in his face: fifteen minutes when you heard a muffled yell come from Jeno’s room.

Well, that’s a sign if you’ve ever heard one. You just hoped he wasn’t violently jerking off. That yell sounded guttural, barging into his room while getting intimate with one (or both) of his hands did not sound like a good start to as possible heart to heart. Depends on Jeno, really. Or you, if you did manage to corner him, though something told you that you might. If you chose your words correctly,

Jeno hadn’t been whacking it, thankfully. The loud sounds he had been making during your ten seconds walk to his bedroom were out of frustration directed at the small pool of guys he was playing League with. You immediately recognized the frazzled yells of Donghyuck. Jaemin’s hyena-like cackles whenever he witnessed someone dying. You hear Chenle antagonizing Donghyuck for sport and a surprising addition to the circus was Jisung trying to corral everyone into actually working together. It didn’t work. You swore it just got louder if that was even possible.

You took a moment to lean against the door frame to watch the chaos on Jeno’s end. You get an eyeful of him. Like really took him in his natural state because it genuinely felt like you haven’t seen him and his face in a hot minute. The tight black tank-top, loose sweatpants, mussed up hair—you had to bite your tongue from making any pathetic noise.

“You voice chat with them on speaker?”

Evidently, Jeno had not expected for you to barge in, startling him so bad at the sound of your voice that he bumped his knee quite hard against the table with a loud exclamation of ‘fuck!’. The gaming chair squeaked when he spun around to scowl at you. Whether it was from scaring the living shit out of him, disturbing his time with the boys, or seeing you, the cause of his biggest disappointment, you probably deserved it either way.

“Why? Are you gonna complain how loud I am again?” Oh wow. He really did not like you right now. That wasn’t going to stop you though. You were going to have that talk whether your roommate liked it or not. And possible broken hearts be damned.

“No, I just—can we talk?”

Jeno arched an eyebrow, looking from his monitor then to you. “I’m busy. If that wasn’t obvious.”

My God, is he being difficult, you thought, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I doubt playing LoL with the morons is more important than what I have to talk to you about,” you said dryly.

“Did you just call us ‘morons’?” Chenle.

“Oh, and one of them’s deaf too.”

“Do we have to..?” Jeno has this sort of pained look on his face and could not quite meet your narrowed gaze.

“Wait—holy shit. Are you guys fighting?” Came the crackle of Jaemin’s grating voice, sounding way too happy.

“Mommy and Daddy are fighting,” Chenle sang in a stupid tune which immediately got a snippy ‘go fuck yourself, Chenle’ from Daddy.

“Is this why Jeno’s been a sulky shit for the past few weeks?” Donghyuck asked through his obnoxious giggling. “What’d you do, Samoyed?”

“You should be asking her that.” The samoyed in question grumbled, swiveling towards his monitor as the guys (minus Jisung) whooped and hollered at his snipe. “Can we continue? Please?” His tone turned desperate at the last word. If it were any other day, you would have taken pity, but it was clear he was using fucking League of Legends as an escape and you were too keyed up to let Jeno have this one.

“Oh no you don’t, motherfucker.”

Jeno barely had his hand hovered over the curved surface of his mouse when he was violently spun around with all the strength you had. The hollering increased tenfold, a chorus of men asking what the fuck was going on adding fuel to the fire pushing your roommate by the chair’s arms until it hits the edge of his desk hard enough that it rattled.

The incredulous twist to Jeno’s face went ignored along with the excited yells of grown ass men begging to be part of this ‘lovers spat’ as you clambered onto your roommate’s lap. The chair creaked when you leaned forward, reaching behind Jeno for the keyboard and paid no mind to his muffled exclaim of surprise. So what if your breasts were right in his face? He was well acquainted with them. He had no room to act like a blushing virgin.

“What—what are you doing?”

“Are we getting a show?” Donghyuck asked, excited, followed by the rest of them pressing to get exactly that.

“Hell no.” Your fingers pressed down on a combination of keys. “I’m turning this thing off. Goodbye.”

The whirring cooling fans of Jeno’s coveted CPU died along with your friends’ protests of sticking around longer and promises of keeping quiet after you had forced closed all applications after a few mouse clicks and shut down the computer. Once you were sure everything was off, you sat up straight and forced him to look at you with your fingers grasping his chin.

“We should talk.”

“I figured.” Jeno’s shoulders slumped with a resigned sigh, though he didn’t make any move to pull away from your touch. “Don’t you want to sit on the bed? Y’know, keep a normal distance between us?”

“Jeno, nothing about us is normal. Hasn’t been since that first kiss.”

He hummed, those brown pools of his glazing over as his cheeks pinked at the memory. “That’s fair. You sure you’re comfortable like that?”

“Just a precaution.” You shrugged. “I don’t want you running off. Which reminds me—” You let go of his chin in favor of leaning back and folding your arms above your chest. “What the fuck was that about? Avoiding me? I thought we were okay?”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say when Jeno’s face hardened and wrenched his chin from your grasp.

“Okay?” His disbelief has your eyebrows rising. “It was that easy for you, huh?” You were surprised he hasn’t thrown you off his lap yet. Jeno seemed to contemplate the idea as a series of emotions passed over his face. In the end, he settled on leaning back with a creak, mirroring your crossed arms and looking everything but pleased. “No. We’re not okay. Why the fuck did you think I’d be okay after you told me you wanted nothing to do with me?”

“Technically, that’s not what I said—“

“I know what you said. I was there.” That was a joke. A very dry one at that and if this were any other situation, you would have laughed. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less. We were doing good. We were happy and I thought you might’ve—” He shook his head.“I just don’t get why you called it quits.” Well, at least the urge to laugh was gone. You felt like absolute garbage. Jeno looked so tired, staring resolutely at the print of your shirt.

“Believe me when I say I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said gently, reaching out to brush your fingers against Jeno’s that were nestled in the crook of his elbow. “I thought I was doing the right thing—and you were right, we were happy. It was the happiest I’ve ever been and… and—I’m going to sound so stupid—but I got scared. Everything was good, yeah, too good. Perfect even, and that scared me.” When you heard nothing from Jeno, you took that as a prompt for you to continue, keeping your gaze set on his fingers you fiddled with.

“This was supposed to be just sex, y’know? But the longer it went on, the more I started to want more than that and it’s honestly driving me crazy,” you say, laughing softly to yourself. “You just had to be kind. You just had to be the sweetest fucking person I know and I guess I’m not as immune as I thought I would be when it comes to you.” You swallowed thickly. “And I can’t stand the fact that all I’m ever gonna be is your roommate you sleep with.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. Laying yourself bare had never been easy. The vulnerability that came with admitting you’ve grown to care for Jeno outside the limits friendship entailed. Granted you didn’t explicitly pour your heart out, but your roommate was smarter than people would give him credit for so chances are, Jeno understood you perfectly. From the tremble in your voice, to the raw desperation in your words… you just hoped that whatever happens, you won’t lose his friendship.

Jeno stayed mum. You didn’t think he was breathing either and you were steadily growing worried because said anything for the past minute. Was he gearing to shove you off his lap like you had assumed? Get you comfortable first and then catch you by surprise? Alarmed by the likelihood of that happening, you steeled yourself as you lifted your head up.

And you were met with the most peculiar sight: Jeno red in the face.

“Oh my God,” he said, mortified and caught his face with both hands. The tips of his ears were tinged in a bright red too.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled with a heavy heart. Of course he didn’t feel the same. “It’s literally my own fault that I caught feelings—”

“No no. Don't ever be sorry for that.” He made a noise muffled by both of his hands, dragging them down his face. Jeno was less red now, though he was still flushed, not knowing what to do with his hands until they settled awkwardly folded on his abdomen. “It’s just—this is really embarrassing.”

“We can pretend this never happened—” He cuts you off, saying your name.

“This is embarrassing because I thought you broke up with me.”

What?

“I broke up with you,” you clarified, all racing emotions coming to a screeching halt as you stared blankly into the distance.

The short laugh Jeno lets out was almost hysterical. “Yeah. I thought we were dating.”

“Dating? Since when?”

Jeno tilted his head. “The first and last time we had sex in my car. Because someone was scared of getting caught.”

“Well, I’m not exactly an exhibitionist, damn.” Now it was your turn for your face to flame up. That’s what he meant? “And you said you wanted to be ‘exclusive’! Not that you wanted me as your girlfriend!”

Jeno blinked in that cute way of his. “Is that not what being exclusive means?”

“Jeno, we hooked up in your car when you asked me that. At my job of all places. Who in their right mind would think you wanted to be my boyfriend? I literally thought you meant you wanted to fuck just me and no other girl. No-strings attached—that type of shit.”

“Well, no,” Obviously. His eyes seemed to say. “Wait. Was that why you kept making jokes of me still sleeping around?”

You winced with a reluctant nod. “uh—you can’t blame me for assuming since you look…” you made a vague gesture towards his face. “Like that.”

“You can say I’m hot," Jeno teased, smiling wryly. "It’s okay. I won’t get a big head or anything…”

“Too late, Megamind.” You scowled, then pursed your lips in contemplation. “Wait—holy shit… so that’s what Mark meant.”

Jeno blinked. “Meant what?”

“He said he gave us his blessing when we were at their housewarming party.” The knowing looks, the gentle pride gleaming from his eyes when you caught him staring at you and Jeno standing side-by-side at the party. “Oh my God. Did everyone else think that?” The girls losing their minds when you got up to make your way towards Jeno… Jaemin’s ever-present teasing dialed up to eleven once Jeno had let it slip through their phone call. “Why didn’t you say anything? Didn’t you find it weird that I wasn’t, like, referring to you as my boyfriend?”

Jeno’s lips parted into a darling ‘o’, then formed into a sheepish smile when you raised an eyebrow. “I just thought you were shy—that you wanted to keep our relationship private until you were ready to hard launch me on Instagram, or something like that.”

You wanted to kick yourself. “You’re literally too nice for your own good, what the fuck.” Jeno shrugged and you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. You were dating this man without even knowing, apparently and here you were, dealing with your feelings like an angsty teenager. This is the most ridiculous case of miscommunication you’ve dealt with so far. “And the things you’ve been doing for me… the morning coffees, the sometimes lunches you’d leave with Jimin. Taking and picking me up to and from work when you could. The couch… Everything, basically… that wasn’t just you being nice?”

“It was me trying to make up for being the world’s shittiest roommate at first, but yes, that’s also me being your boyfriend, I’m sure,” he confirmed with a solemn nod, eyes twinkling as he finally relaxed in his chair. “Should I bring you a flower every time I do? Y’know, as a reminder, that yes. I’m doing this as your boyfriend.”

“As your boyfriend,” you repeated, smiling bashfully at his use of present-tense. “Are you done giving me the silent treatment, then? Because that sucked. Every time I looked at the couch you bought for us, I got this urge to cry.”

“I’m venmo-ing your money back, by the way.” Jeno was sure of himself now, his big hands feeling at him with their hold on your hips. “Are you going to admit you like me enough to consider me as your boyfriend?”

“I like you more than I should, actually,” you admitted and that was said without any conflicting feelings this time. Proudly too, in fact and the smile on your roommate-turned-fuck-buddy-turned-boyfriend was so worth it. “You’re really hard to resist.”

“I can say the same for you.” Your hips got a firm squeeze from him, making you shiver in delight. You really missed this—missed him and the giddy rush you would get whenever he said something just as sweet. “One more embarrassing thing.”

“Yeah?” You leaned forward, hands trailing tracing up his chest, the skin left exposed by his skin-fit tank top until he let out a hum, smiling coyly when your nails scratched languid lines at his nape. “Tell me anyway.”

“I fell in love the moment I saw you.”

You snorted. “Right. And that’s coming from someone who had many girls over and kept me up.”

“In my defense, I was convinced you were unreachable.”

“You could’ve just said I’m a bitch and called it a day.”

“No—no. It’s not about that, and you had the right to be. What I’m saying is that Mark was kind of an overseller.” Oh yeah. You sure had your own experiences with that. “Like, he made it sound like you were this girl who would never give me the time of the day, y’know? And before I took a leap and—and kissed you that day, I got too in my head that I won’t have a chance—I give you full permission to call me an idiot—and here we are.”

“So you weren’t fucking other girls, then. When we were sleeping together.”

“Nah, I was too busy thinking you were my girlfriend. I’m a slut, not a cheater.”

“Quote of the year,” you teased, smirking at his embarrassment. “Then that's old news. I don’t give a fuck, but really?” Jeno looked very pleased with himself, precious blush and all from admitting that he had been shooting heart eyes in your direction since the very early stages of your lives when you barely had taken root in each other’s. “Even when I was the biggest bitch of the east?”

“Especially when you were a bitch.” He emphasized his point by sliding one of his hands to the small of your back and pushing you close as the limited space his chair would allow you. “I really wasn’t lying when I said you’re cute when you’re angry. Really turns me on.”

“I think you just like me bossing you around, don’t you?” The slow blink you were rewarded with when giving his hair an experimental tug said it all. It pulled out a soft sound of amusement from you, pressing your foreheads together as your palms curved over his cheeks. “Your taste in women is horrendous, Jeno Lee.”

That made him smile, leaning into your touch. “I think you’re perfect, actually.” The warm puffs of his breath ghosting against your parted lips made them tingle and Jeno closed the distance with a kiss so sweet, so full of longing that you could honestly cry.

Was it possible to go a little stir crazy from not getting to kiss the man for weeks? Because you honestly felt like it, with Jeno being the sole source for your fix. You missed this. You missed him, having Jeno this close. You saw no point in rushing this as you pressed deeper, running your fingers through his soft hair just as your boyfriend (boyfriend!) crowds you further into him by wrapping one secure arm around your waist. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, leaving you to melt into his touch.

“On the contrary,” you took a big gulp of air just as Jeno took to pressing as many kisses as he could down your neck. “I’m kind of a mess,” you said, granting him a rueful smile when he withdrew with his eyebrows knitted together. “And a lot to deal with. Are you sure you want this?”

“You hated me at first. The big idiot who didn’t know when enough was enough, and yet you still gave me a chance anyway. Fuck knows why, but hell am I glad you did. The whole Casanova thing would have been a turn off for anybody, but you’re still here.”

“I’ve seen you change overtime. You’ve never been the same guy since then and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you might want to give this long term thing a shot. I couldn't care less if you ran through every woman in our area.”

“And I couldn't care less if there are days where you’ll be difficult. I’m in love with you—” You’ve never thought your name in the same sentence as ‘love’ would give you this much warmth. “I love you. Good days, bad days—doesn’t mean a thing when I’ll be with you during those days. And it’s all I ever want. So long as you’ll have me.”

And my goodness do you hold so much fondness for him. All those things that he did, all those things that he had said so far… it really made you want to put that much faith in him. He made it so easy when he was this determined and sincere and you really didn’t care if the start of this was all backwards.

“I really, really like you, Jeno Lee,” you whispered as if the moment would be ruined if you said it any louder. Whispered as if Jeno was the only one allowed to hear it. “Please trust me when I say I do. This—this is new to me, so I’m a little overwhelmed—look.” You took his hand and placed it above your beating heart. “There’s probably going to be a bruise there from how hard it's beating.”

“Oh, physical confirmation. I like that.”

You laughed, taking his hand to press the palm of it to your cheek. “It really was torture when I had to temporarily put us on hold. I was so used to you being there and… yeah.”

“Trust me when I say it felt like my world just collapsed when you broke up with me.”

“Eh… does it really count when one of us didn’t know that we were dating?”

“I suppose not.” Jeno reached up to kiss your cheek, your nose and then your lips. “We’re both stupid, I guess.”

“And you're sure you still want this?”

"You're all I've ever wanted."

Jeno pulled you down for another searing kiss full on intention, and you knew just then he’d be here with you. On the good days and the bad, in this apartment that started it all for a long time.

Jeno: hey Jeno: just wanna say thanks

Mark Lee: for what lol

Jeno: for linking me with your best friend Jeno: didn’t think you’d set me up to be her roommate tho Jeno: but that’s killing two birds with one stone ig so thanks anyway Jeno: I owe you my life

Mark Lee: it’s whatever dude Mark Lee: only you would fall in love with the girl who puked on your shoes for your meet-cute 😆

Jeno: listennn Jeno: she said she loved me and cuddled with me all night after i cleaned her up sat her down Jeno: but it didn’t look like she remembered me or that night at all

Mark Lee: dude Mark Lee: she was shitfaced at a club

Jeno: she could have remembered my face :/

Mark Lee: it was dark as hell 😐 Mark Lee: get a grip man Mark Lee: n she tends to not remember anything after THAT many tequila shots Mark Lee: i am curious tho what made her think you guys were just fucking and not dating lmfao Mark Lee: like what did you say 😭😭

Jeno: im blocking you.

END.

a/n: AND WE'RE DONE!!! LET'S ALL LIVE!!!! as always, special thanks to Aria, Aeriel and Moon for letting me scream and cry about how this fic was ruining my life and for lending a hand when it comes to forming ideas! I probably wouldn't have finished this piece of work if it weren't for them cheering me on and I am truly grateful to have them and their support i love you guys 🥹🩷🩷 and I'd also like to thank to wonderful people who had read this fic from start to finish! you deserve a cookie 🍪

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @rjreins @pinknjm @kshynj @dorkyji @notevenheretbh1 @everytimeicrymytearsdonteverdry @iscocohere @seulkikiii @wintahh @peachesmilk @rxnexxi @rum-gone-why @bluedbliss @tiramisubox @jinxxdreamz @minkyuncutie @txnml @yawnzshit @suhwife @carelessshootanonymous @sanctify-mp3 @haechansbbg @dreamiestay @ryuvrsie @derywinkle @byungbyungbaek @surrealxox @jenoleeaesthetic @dreamy-carat @weiweific @focusonyeri (much thanks you guys who had expressed interest and asked to be part of the taglist!)

#lee jeno x reader #lee jeno one shot #lee jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno one shot #jeno smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream one shot #nct dream smut #nics: fics

1K notes · View notes

douceurrrr · 2 months ago

Text

jealous sex with nic in soul ties

cw: smut, minor angst,oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, language , unprotected (p in v), reader is blk.

you had no idea it was gonna piss him off that bad.

you were just doing the challenge. just following instructions like everybody else—wrap your legs around the log, whisper something spicy, give a little performance. and yeah, maybe you went a little harder when it was jeremiah’s turn. but that’s what the game called for, right?

besides, it was blindfolded.

you didn’t even know it was jeremiah until you heard him laugh afterward.

but nic… oh, nic saw everything.

you felt it the second you came back to sit on the bench. the heat of his stare across the firepit, his jaw tight, leg bouncing, arms folded across that broad chest like he was using every ounce of strength not to explode.

and the thing is—you knew you looked good. the tiny denim shorts hugging your hips. the silk top barely tied in the front. your knotless braids pulled into a high messy bun that left your neck on full display. you were glowing.

and jeremiah definitely noticed.

but nic? he looked like he wanted to murder him.

you tried to play it cool. smiled, laughed when amaya whispered something messy in your ear. but your eyes kept flicking over to nic. and his never left you.

until he stood up. sharp. deliberate. walked right over.

“can i pull you for a chat?” he asked, voice low but carrying.

you blinked. then nodded, standing slow.

he didn’t wait for a response. just walked off toward the villa, and you followed—silent, curious, lowkey excited.

but you didn’t expect him to lead you into soul ties.

the producers must’ve given him the green light, because the door was already cracked, candles already lit, bed already made. it smelled like vanilla and something woodsy, sensual. like trouble.

he walked in first. you closed the door behind you.

the air shifted instantly.

he didn’t look at you for a second. just stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at the floor like he was counting backwards in his head.

then finally—

“what the fuck was that?”

you blinked. “excuse me?”

“that challenge.”

you tilted your head. “the one we were told to do by production?”

he looked up, jaw clenching. “you know exactly what i’m talking about.”

you crossed your arms. “i was doing my job, babe.”

“you were doing the most.”

you scoffed, more amused than offended. “so now you mad at me for winning the challenge?”

“nah. i’m mad at the way you wrapped yourself around him like that shit wasn’t national television.”

you raised an eyebrow. “it was blindfolded.”

“you were grinding, y/n.”

“nic.”

“you were whispering shit in his ear.”

“so what?”

“so what?” he stepped forward, hands still on his hips, chest rising heavy now. “he was touching you like you were single. like i don’t sleep next to you every night. like this isn’t us.”

you stared at him for a long second, letting the silence stretch. letting him feel it.

then you smirked.

“you’re jealous.”

his eyes narrowed. “i’m not jealous.”

“you are. you’re mad ’cause someone else touched what you think only belongs to you.”

he stepped even closer. “i know it belongs to me.”

your stomach fluttered. “do you?”

“you really wanna test me tonight?” his voice dropped, rough and low. “’cause i will remind you exactly who this belongs to.”

you leaned up, whispered against his mouth, “then do it.”

that’s all it took.

his mouth crashed into yours like a storm, rough and desperate and messy. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him so hard your breath caught. you kissed him back with just as much heat, letting him feel every ounce of power you had over him.

he spun you toward the bed, lips never leaving yours, hands already dragging your top over your head. you stepped out of your shorts, leaving you in nothing but your panties and gold hoops.

he groaned. “fuck. look at you.”

you crawled onto the bed, slow, sultry, spreading your legs a little as you leaned back on your elbows.

“go ahead then,” you teased. “show me.”

he pulled his shirt off fast, the soft cotton clinging to his abs before it hit the floor. his sweats followed, low on his hips, revealing a hard bulge already pressing against his boxers.

he climbed onto the bed, crawling over you, hovering with his hands planted on either side of your head.

“you made me crazy tonight,” he muttered against your skin. “watching him touch you.”

“so make it better.”

he didn’t need another invitation.

his lips trailed down your neck, sucking gently just under your ear, then harder as he moved to your collarbone. you moaned softly, your fingers sliding into his curls, tugging just enough to make him growl.

he kissed down your chest, mouthing over your nipple through your bra, before sliding it off completely. then his mouth wrapped around you, hot and wet, tongue flicking until your back arched.

his hand slid down your stomach, fingers teasing the waistband of your panties.

“these coming off.”

you nodded, breathless.

he slid them down slowly, eyes locked on yours, lips parted like he was watching art.

and then his mouth was on you — no warning, no teasing. he kissed your thighs, then dove in, licking you like it was the only way to survive. tongue flat and firm against your clit, fingers spreading you open so he could really taste you.

you gasped, hips bucking. “oh my god—fuck, nic—”

he didn’t stop. just kept licking, slow at first, then faster, swirling and sucking until your thighs were shaking.

“you gonna cum for me?” he asked, voice rough against your heat.

“yes,” you breathed. “don’t stop. don’t—”

you came with a cry, hands fisting the sheets, your whole body shivering as he licked you through it. and when you finally opened your eyes, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark.

“still mine?” he asked, grabbing your thigh and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“always,” you whispered.

“good.”

he pushed his boxers down, thick and hard and already leaking. he stroked himself slowly, then leaned over you, lining up with your entrance.

“look at me.”

you did.

and he pushed in deep.

you gasped, nails digging into his arms as he filled you — stretching you open with a slow, deep stroke that made your eyes roll back.

he gave you a moment. then started moving.

each thrust was purposeful, deep, like he wanted to feel himself in your throat. his hand gripped your hip, the other pressed against your stomach as he watched his dick disappear inside you.

“you feel that?” he muttered. “that’s mine.”

“yours,” you moaned, voice shaking. “so deep, baby—”

he leaned down, kissed you again — this time soft, slow, like he remembered you were his favorite person even when he was pissed.

he flipped you over suddenly, pulled your hips back until you were on your knees. you arched, your cheek pressed into the pillow, and he slid back inside in one long stroke.

“fuck,” he groaned. “you feel too good.”

he picked up the pace, hips snapping into you, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room with your moans.

he reached under you, fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles while he kept pounding into you from behind.

you cried out, body trembling again. “nic—i’m gonna—”

“cum on this dick,” he growled. “show me who it belongs to.”

you broke with a scream, vision white, walls clenching around him as your orgasm crashed through your body. he came right after, buried deep inside you with a long, low groan, gripping your waist like he’d never let go.

he collapsed beside you after, both of you breathless, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync.

you turned your head, eyes half-lidded. “still mad?”

he laughed, chest rising. “hell yeah.”

you raised a brow.

he leaned over, kissed your shoulder. “but at least now jeremiah knows better.”

you smiled, pulling the blanket up over both of you.

“you’re crazy.”

“for you?” he grinned, brushing your hair back from your face. “every time.”

⸻

#black!reader #fanfic #nic love island #love island usa #love island #love island fics #nicolas x black!reader #love island x reader #soul ties

1K notes · View notes

fakeuwus · 1 year ago

Text

MANEATER | SIM JAEYUN (M)

PAIRING: virgin!jake x yn (femreader)

SYNOPSIS: in which jake is tired of being a virgin and you're asked to help him out.

WARNINGS: smut so MDNI! vrignity loss, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (be safe out there), creampie, riding, multiple orgasms, etc. cursing, words like slut/whore, BARELY PROOFREAD

WC: 5k, lowercase intended

MESSAGE FROM NIC: here it finally is!! (sorry for the delay) my first piece of smut,,, hope it's what everyone imagined 😁 (also tysm for 2k notes on the teaser ahh!!) big thank u to my stella, @karinasbaby for encouraging this fic, one of my biggest supporters ilysm. pls be kind as this is something new for me BUT feedback is super appreciated, tell me what u liked and didn't like! (respectfully) also reblogs would be nice as well so feel free to drop one. love u guys sm 🫶🏼

jake sim was a virgin. a pitiful, pitiful virgin. and it’s not like he was ugly. not even close to that. jake was an attractive guy, easy on the eyes. and his flirting? a real smooth talker he was.

it was as if 2000s chad michael murray possessed his very soul every single time he would chat up a girl at a party or in class.

so why couldn't he ever close the deal? how did he find himself in a steamy makeout session one second and then the next the girl is storming out of the room in disgust. every. single. time.

oh yea, because he was a fucking virgin. a pitiful, pitiful virgin.

it seemed like girls these days wanted a man in charge. someone who could help them live out their fifty shades of grey fantasies. jake would like to think he could do that for them but how could he ever learn if no one wanted to give him the time of day? what happened to the girls that would spread their legs for anything and anyone?

all jake needed was one chance. one chance to stick his dick in a hole and he can move on with his life.

his friends didn't make it any better either. he was getting tired of hearing all about their wild sexcapades every week and having nothing to contribute to the conversation.

but they don’t intentionally leave him out or make him feel bad about his lack of experience. they even try getting him with their past hookups because you know, sharing is caring right?

“dude no way you fumbled sora. she’s a real slut i was so sure she would let you hit,” sunghoon says as he’s unwrapping his sandwich then taking a bite. “bro i didn't fumble anything. it's the same shit every time, once i tell them im a virgin they dip,” jake responds while he steals sunghoon’s sandwich and takes a bite for himself.

sunghoon doesn't even argue, his best friend is clearly in distress and is need of some food. “she started ranting about how she doesnt “do” virgins because they get attached and she thinks im gonna become obsessed with her or something.”

“why do you even tell them you’re a virgin in the first place? if that's the issue why even say anything at all?” heeseung questions with a mouth full of the same sandwich that somehow now ended up in his hands.

“because if he cums in .2 seconds then the girls are gonna think he’s a bad fuck. there's no winning here.” jake nods in agreement with jay's statement as he watches jay snatch the sandwich from heeseung and finish it off.

this is what is so beautiful about their friendship. they share everything with each other, the main things being girls and food. unfortunately for jake, bites of food is all he gets.

—-----------------

“oh fuck!” jakes pants while bucking his hips forward. vision blurry, drool pooling around the corner of his mouth. he genuinely feels like his soul is leaving his body and he wasn’t sure this was even real life anymore. to ground himself and bring him back to reality, he tries looking around the room to find something to distract him.

he doesn’t want to cum embarrassingly fast and he does NOT want to be seen as a bad fuck. out of the corner of his eye he spots a baby yoda squishmallow in the corner of the room, its sparkly eyes watching jake get his dick sucked for the first time.

it’s kind of weird but he finds comfort in the plushie and focuses on it to keep him from fucking exploding.

now you might be wondering how he got here. in a hot girl’s room getting what he swears is the best head in his life (not that he has anything to compare it to.) the answer is jay, his best friend in the entire world who he now owes his first born to.

“her name’s yn. just text her and ask when she wants to meet. i told her you were a virgin already so don’t worry about that,” jay explains as he’s scrolling through your profile showing jake what you look like.

silky, flowy hair, curves to die for. to say you’re gorgeous would be an understatement. the whole ordeal seemed too good to be true.

“she wants to fuck me? even after hearing i’m a virgin?” jake asks after grabbing his milk tea from the counter and walking towards a table.

jay simply nods and throws a look towards sunghoon, signaling him to explain the rest as they all take a seat. “yea that’s kind of her thing. she loves virgins. like, her body count consists of only virgins.”

jake was perplexed by the situation. surely he’d hear about a beautiful woman who only drops her panties for inexperienced guys roaming their campus.

heeseung then speaks up, as if reading jake’s mind, “she goes to the college in the next town over. around a 20 minute drive.” before continuing his sentence he shifts his eyes towards jay and sunghoon. eyeballs darting back and forth.

some unspoken dialogue is happening between the three as they sip their sweet drinks and jake just has to sit there and watch. minutes go by and jay clears his throat and sighs, finally breaking the silence.

“she uh, actually took all of our virginities back in high school. that’s how we know her.”

pause. the fuck? he knew his friends all have gotten their dicks wet for the same girl before but at the same time? jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. i mean, he did only just meet them three years ago, whatever they were up to before then he can’t judge.

he supposes desperate times call for desperate measures, and jake is sure he would’ve ended up in the same situation soon if they weren’t handing you on a silver platter to him.

“so… you guys had a foursome for your first times??”

heeseung instantly chokes on his boba as jake’s arm receives a punch from jay. a faint giggle is heard from sunghoon, “this bitch is choking on some balls.”

ignoring heeseung’s dramatics jay clarifies, “no you idiot, she took all of our virginities separately. we weren’t as desperate as you were.”

“and like, that pussy is so heavenly. i’d be pissed having to share her with another guy at the same time.”

“roger that, brother.”

jake looks towards the two, sunghoon rubbing heeseung’s back trying to calm him down from his almost near death over some balls.

“care to elaborate?”

“man why do you think we’re all sex crazed freaks? her pussy’s got some voodoo magic in it or something. our manhood didn’t begin when we watched porn for the first time together, it started with her,” jay pauses and shifts in his seat, slight discomfort in his lower region.

he looks up and pinches his nose, “fuck i’m getting hard just thinking about it.” sneaking a peek at jay’s lower half, jake can see his friend chubbing it up in his pants. nothing he’s never seen before honestly.

but what he hadn't seen before was how his friends were reminiscing so hard on a hook up the way they were right now. and the fact that their origin story of discovering their high libidos is all because of you? he was scared shitless of what he was about to get himself into.

-------------------

fast forward to some exchanged texts between you guys, jake found himself in your room with his pants around his ankles getting the life sucked out of him.

he quickly discovered you were very straightforward and to the point, immediately sending him your apartment address and what time to show up.

jake couldn’t argue though, all this talk about how you were gonna “change his life” and shit got him real worked up. he appreciated the fact that you skipped the small talk and went straight for his dick.

upon arriving and stepping into your living space, your lips smashed onto his and he was pushed down onto the bed. no hi, no hello. just your lucious, full lips swapping spit with his.

his hands instinctively flew to your waist, his digits gripping your plush skin as you straddle him. jake felt so in his element in the moment. making out? this is where he excels. he could do this all day if he could.

but he was here on a mission and he’ll be damned if he leaves without fucking you. or you fucking him. he was honestly down for whatever. you could ask to peg him and he would say yes.

you can sense his impatience, his face twisting in pleasure trying to savor every moment while the cogs are turning in his head, awaiting your next move. every squeeze he gave signaled that he wanted to get things moving.

you make your way down his body, peppering kisses any and everywhere leaving his skin burning. jake couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

in less than a minute he was about to get his first blowjob ever. what does he do? where do his hands go? what if he chokes you? what if he passes out from the stimulation?

before he can think of anymore what to do’s and what if’s, your mouth is on his dick and jake is seeing stars, figuratively and literally. he takes note of the little ones taped to your ceiling and thinks it’s cute.

the pink walls and plushies surrounding the two of you is such a stark contrast to your personality, or what little jake knows of you. but hey, he likes a woman with some duality to her.

“you can put your hands in my hair.”

jake finally takes a look down at you. pupils blown out, lips a bit swollen from all the sucking. you looked so, so pretty like this. he can only imagine what you look like with his cock in you.

trembling hands grab at your hair, slightly pushing you further down and a gagging noise emerges from the back of your throat. oh shit. your nose is practically meeting his pelvic bone and you aren’t letting up.

fuck it, jake thinks to himself. he was done with being patient. he starts fucking up into your mouth relentlessly, chasing the orgasm he was delaying. and you just let him.

you’re merely a hole for him in this moment and you could care less. his dick may be average in size but the girthiness of it was so delicious, you couldn’t get enough.

to make sure he reaches his high, you reach for his balls and start playing with them. his erratic thrusts combined with you squeezing his genitals he twitches in your mouth and his cum is shooting out, pooling out the sides of your lips.

and you don’t stop there. you keep going and going and jake actually feels like he’s going to pass out. “okay, okay please please!” you swallow everything he gave you and finally let him go with a pop to come up for air.

you get up and see him lying there on your bed, unmoving. eyes closed and mouth agape barely taking breaths. one might think he’s dead but this was typical.

once a guy gets to cum in a girl’s mouth for the first time they don’t know what to do with themselves. nudging him with your knee he breaks out of his trance with a lopsided smile adorning his face. god he’s adorable.

before you can suggest a break he immediately grabs you by the hips and flips you onto your back. your shorts go flying onto the floor behind him and he spreads your legs wide to prop them onto his shoulders.

his tongue immediately attaches to your clit and he starts licking you all over. slurping and sucking, as if this was his last meal on earth. he was desperate to get you to cum the way you made him and it was showing.

jake’s eating you out a little too expertly to your liking, as if he’s done this a million times. you won’t judge if he has, you’re literally the last person to judge someone’s sexual history but how is he still a virgin if he eats pussy this good?

he must’ve been met with horrible women who just used him for his mouth and left him dry. you wouldn’t do that to him though, poor guy doesn’t deserve that.

he inserts two fingers into your hole while his mouth was still working your clit. jesus christ. you didn’t notice before but his fingers were so slender and long, reaching places your own didn’t. “am i doing okay? kind of my first time.”

oh? so this was his first time eating pussy. you simply give him a nod of approval, not being able to utter a word as he dives right back in.

in all of your sexual encounters, never has there been a guy so willing to return the favor. and the fact that you didn’t even have to ask? where the fuck did jay find a guy like this? was he aware his friend was a fucking certified munch?

determined to make sure you cum, jake inserts another finger and moves his fingers in an upward motion, trying to find your spot. at least that’s what wikihow told him how to do it.

the sound of your moans and the taste of your pussy on his tongue simply feel amazing and he feels like he could come alone like this. at this point you’re panting and riding his fingers and god it’s so hot. you’re so hot.

jake finds himself humping into the mattress, trying to aid his painful hard on he’s grown since going down on you.

his wrist begins to ache with how fast he’s pumping into you but he doesn’t give a fuck, he’ll do anything to see what you look like when you reach your high.

“oh god, i’m, i’m- ahhh!” you come undone onto his mouth and hand, lips forming an o shape with the most pornographic moan he’s ever heard and he silently releases his load along with you onto the bed.

jake makes sure every single drop of your delicious juices are all licked up, driving your oversensitivity.

“so? how was i?”

you take a look at his annoyingly cute face and he’s licking all over his fingers like a lollipop. cute. gaining some of your composure, your eyes spot a wet spot on your sheets.

“wait, did you…”

“oh. sorry about that. i couldn’t help it.” jake explains with a sheepish smile and a scratch behind his head. not only is this guy a munch but he came untouched while tongue fucking you. you weren’t even sure guys like him existed, like at all.

without speaking another word, you grab the back of his neck and smash your lips onto his. tasting yourself on him has you wet all over again and you both begin to undress each other.

you detach yourself to take your shirt off and he pauses to fully look at you, drinking in every inch of your body. hands grab at your boobs and he pinches a nipple, a small moan escaping your mouth.

your body was literally to die for, the pictures on your profile barely doing you justice. and to finally be able to feel all around your curves and give your boods and ass tight squeezes was a dream come true for jake.

(he may or may not have been jerking off to the few posts you have up, counting down the days of you guys finally meeting but you didn’t have to know that)

you also took a moment to admire his body. to say jake was sculpted like a fucking greek god was an understatement, sporting a six pack and biceps to die for. veins running all over his arms and hands.

deciding it’s finally time to do the deed, you switch positions and motion for him to lay on his back. “are you ready?”

“wait! what about a condom?”

“i’m clean and i know you are so…”

“right.”

you throw your legs over his waist, now straddling him with your vagina inches from his cock. “okay, take deep breaths. i’m gonna slowly go down alright?”

jake throws a thumbs up and eagerly nods. in a moment like this he doesn’t fail to be endearing. you could literally just eat him up with how cute he was. your pussy was about to anyway.

you lace your fingers with his and slowly lower yourself onto him. there’s some intimacy with your actions and jake finds comfort in your eyes, looking at him adoringly.

it was finally fucking happening and jake couldn’t believe it. he was about to become a man. and the fact that it was you taking his virginity, a gorgeous woman who doesn’t care that he’s inexperienced and lets him hit it raw. it's really all he can ask for.

once your walls are wrapped around his tip, jake’s a goner. the little sweet moment you two shared is thrown out the window and he starts bucking his hips up into you, hard and fast.

his hands find purchase on your hips and he’s gripping them so hard you're sure there will be bruises tomorrow. you wanted to start out slow as it is his first time but it seems his thrusting says otherwise.

you press your hands against his chest and begin to move rhythmically in sync with him. jake’s eyes immediately roll back and his breathing quickens.

his hands fall to his side and he lays lifeless beneath you, letting you take full control.

all he could do was stare at the spot where his dick entered you and it was making him even more hornier. he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

your wetness didn’t help anything either. the squelching sounds indicated that you were very much enjoying this as much as he was.

“fuck you feel so good baby,” jake moans. the pet name that slips past his lips and it doesn’t go unnoticed but you also don’t question it.

for some reason the simple word made your heart jump. guys always called things like babe or even whore when they really let loose.

those never got to your head, you know they couldn’t really control themselves in the moment and you let them have their fun.

but jake has been nothing but kind to you this whole time, like he knew you were doing him a service and not the other way around.

this only fueled your desire to ensure that his sure first time exceeded his expectations so upped your menstrations. you quickly changed your pace to grind forward, backwards, and in circles making sure his dick felt every inch of you.

jake’s mind was reeling, his breath caught in his throat. he feels as if his dick was about to fall off with the way you were moving.

your body leans forward and you begin to kiss at his neck, leaving hickeys everywhere. your hot breath near his ear sends him into overdrive, must be a sensitive spot of his he never knew he had, but also how could he have known?

his hands that were once gripping the sheets meet your ass and he starts to guide you up and down his cock. you both were about to reach your climaxes, your pussy clenching with every move.

“i’m- where? fuck! where do i cum?”

“inside. cum inside me please.”

inside?? his first time cumming from sex and you were gonna let him do it inside of you? jake swears you couldn’t be any more perfect than you are right now.

you knew you threw him for a loop and honestly yourself as well. pushing these thoughts towards the back of your head you start riding him aggressively, even faster than before. “fuck, jake i’m cumming!”

“me too baby oh my god!”

and there was that damn pet name again. it makes your heart leap out of your chest and sends you over the edge.

the knot in your stomach snaps and jake follows shortly after, his load shooting into you. it pools out of you and you don’t hesitate to swipe some up with a delicate finger and bring it to your mouth, mirroring his actions from earlier.

your eyes meet his fucked out ones and you smile down at him, admiring the masterpiece of lovebites you left all over him. his vision was a bit blurry but he catches the way your lips curled upward, flashing your pearly whites.

jake finds himself instantly becoming hard again, call him easy but when a pretty girl is smiling at him like that after fucking him, can you really blame him?

you move yourself off of him and jake was fully expecting you to kick him out now but instead you position yourself on all fours, your ass in the air inviting him in.

“fuck. you’re into anal?”

you turn your head sharply to look at him over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow to question what he just said. the look you give him says it all and jake takes the hint and positions himself behind you.

“can we try anal next time though?”

an exasperated sigh leaves your lips and you reach over to grab his dick, inserting him into you. “umph! okay sorry.”

upon entering your pussy, jake relishes in the feeling of it. being inside your heat again leaves him breathless for the nth time today.

in and out. in and out. he tries to match his breathing with his gradual strokes. his member is extra sensitive right now and he’s trying not to lose himself. the impatience he had earlier has now moved onto you so you decide to take matters into your own hands and start fucking back into him.

your ass is now meeting his hips and the sound of skin slapping echoes in your room along with your moans. jake’s body is flailing from the sudden impact but he grounds his hands around your waist and grips the shit out of you.

he notices bruises forming on your skin but he can’t for the life of him let go. oops. he’ll do his best to remember to apologize for them tomorrow.

when there’s a good pace between the two of you, you fling yourself upward, back meeting his chest and the new angle has him reaching spots he didn’t before.

you take one of his strong arms and place it around your neck, having him choke you as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow. jake’s brain begins to turn to mush and he feels like he’s even more turned on at the revelation of one of your kinks.

and at this point you’re fucking onto him so hard, so good, he didn’t want it to end. “shit. shit. i love your pussy so much baby.” jake whines into your ear, meaning every word he said.

is it crazy to say you love someone upon meeting them for the first time? well, their pussy. yea. maybe. but who gives a fuck.

he was a man possessed by you, by your pussy. in this moment he truly believed there was some voodoo magic going on down there and he was blessed to be experiencing it.

you clench at his words, and your heart flips once more, prompting you to draw him closer to you (if that was even remotely possible)

the closeness of your bodies creates another intimate moment shared, kisses stolen from one another, hands tangled in his hair.

“i’m close,” he whispers in your ear, his breath leaving tingles down your spine. the hushed whispers you exchange contrast the sporadic thrusting that’s happening.

determined to reach your second high of the day, you push jake onto his back and settle yourself onto your knees, continuing to bounce up and down on his cock.

“yea just like that baby, shit shit shit i’m cumming, i’m cumming!”

jake opens his eyes to watch the scene unfold before him and god was it something. your back arches as you take his cum in you once more and your screams fill his ears, signaling you orgasmed right after him.

this moment alone is better than porn itself, and jake savors every bit of it. there’s absolutely no way he can even bring himself to type “nsfw” in his twitter search bar ever again after this.

you hover yourself over him leaving just the tip inside before sliding right back down, pushing his seed back in while it gushes around his cock leaving jake wanting, no needing, a third round with you.

but to his dismay you roll yourself off of his body, landing on the mattress next to him.

“so… how do you feel?”

he releases a long exhale he didn’t know he was holding, “fantastic. 10/10 experience. would do it again.” you simply giggle at his response with a shake of your head, getting up to gather your clothes.

“wait! um, could we do this again?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him, leaving his question unanswered as you begin to dress yourself.

—-----------------

sat in his computer chair, jake is finding it difficult to finish this stupid ethics assignment. how is he supposed to argue about the death penalty when you straight up almost murdered him with your pussy less than 2 hours ago?

he’s sure his professor wouldn’t appreciate if he wrote that he doesn’t give a fuck about someone serving their punishment if the culprit was you, but honestly speaking he’d let you get away with just about anything. you were an angel sent from above to him who could do no wrong.

the way your soft lips wrapped around his cock while your innocent (not) eyes bored into his soul. the way you licked and kissed every single inch of his body, leaving nothing left untouched. and god, the way you worked his dick? how was he supposed to move on from you??

you were an insatiable, sex-crazed goddess. a once in a lifetime experience he was so grateful to have.

his thoughts are interrupted by a loud knocking at his door. two seconds later, jay trails into jake’s room followed by dumb and dumber, all of them having a snug look on their faces.

they make themselves comfortable before they get right into the interrogation. jay leans against the desk, sunghoon sits in the bean bag situated in the corner, and heeseung sprawls himself across the bed.

“so virgin, how was it?”

“wasn’t i right about her pussy?”

“where did she make you cum?”

eyes rolling in the back of his head, jake takes a deep sigh before answering their questions. “one, i’m not a virgin anymore so stop calling me that. two, it was absolutely fucking amazing. literally would give up heaven for it. and three, she had me cum in her. twice.”

heeseung shoots up from his position, jaw dropped and eyes wide. “you came in her twice?!” the boys all share a bewildered expression on their faces, dramatic as always.

jake just shrugs at them, what? didn’t you usually let guys cum in you like the freak you were?

jay slaps his hands down on jake’s shoulders, aggressively turning the computer chair towards him. “jake. buddy. yn has two rules.”

sunghoon suddenly appears on jay’s left, “one. you can’t cum in her. you can cum anywhere BUT inside of her.”

heeseung follows and is now on jay’s right side, “and two. she doesn’t repeat fuck.”

immediately following this revelation there’s silence. complete and utter silence. the gazes they hold are intense and uninviting. as if they truly couldn’t believe you let their best friend who’s never felt the touch of a woman break one of your rules.

their eyes say it all, they love jake to death and are happy for him, like seriously happy and relieved he’s finally entered manhood. but really? none of them got to do what he did? what was so special about him?

you don’t even know the answer to those questions yourself. maybe it was the puppy eyes or his whiny moans that made you feel like you had him in the palm of your hands.

his eagerness to pleasure you but to also receive reminded you of the sole purpose of why you only go for virgins. they made you feel wanted while also letting you be in charge. call it selfishness but why can’t a girl have the best of both worlds?

and you’d never admit it, but jake was one of the best fucks you’ve had in a while. he never tried to be someone he wasn’t, just authentically himself. a pitiful, pitiful virgin. and he was proud of it.

it was refreshing to fuck someone who didn’t have some sort of ego right after you were done with them. immediately bragging to everyone what you two did and acting like they could pull any girl as if you weren’t doing charity work for most of them.

with all of this in mind, of course you let him cum in you. he was doing so well for you, how could you not reward him? had to let him do it twice to drive it home.

and seriously, what kind of guy gives you a tender, sweet goodbye kiss and thanks you for defiling him? you didn’t regret your decisions with him but they were definitely scaring you.

never have you ever been this intimate with a guy, but jake was different. you felt it. and what you did next didn’t scare you as much as your recent choices with him.

*ping!*

the staredown between jake and his friends comes to a halt and he digs his phone out of his pocket to check it. sliding up, he sees the message appear on his screen:

you: are you free tomorrow?

he glances at his friends’ expectant eyes and throws them a smirk. looks like he gets to break that second rule of yours.

TAGLIST: @alvojake @jaylaxies @ikeuverse @pprodsuga @criminalseung @slut4hee @wonuqrtz @sansluvr @juniorjuneper @hoonven @sunshine-skz @luvyouloser @cha0ticpisces @no-daddy-just-issues-148 @hoseokteardrop @jakehooni @minniejenseo @niniissus @capri-cuntz @simpjay @chansloverr @esloao @strawbrrycuteblog @enhaslxt @vveebee @sakanelli-afc @felixbrownies @yunjinswifee @bobaikeu @minaateez @river-demon-slayer @sjylouvre @nyxtwixx @wonderlandless @eddieeddiesblog @moon4moony @skzenhalove @na-x2 @binniesbabe @monstaxdirtywonk @lauover @iheartjayke @jwsflower @notevenheretbh1 @rik1zzluv @ang0308 @kpopaussieline @jaehyuniewifeu

#nic's library ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#fakeuwus #fic: maneater #jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen smut #jake x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen #jake sim #sim jaeyun #jake enhypen

3K notes · View notes

st4rfortune · 30 days ago

Text

cuddles - nicolandria

✮ nic x olandria, 1.1k wc

✮ warnings: light smut, slight fluff, sub!nic if you squint

a/n: i can't stop thinking of how nic described his cuddle sesh with olandria T_T hes sooo down bad and im living for it! my crackship finally came to fruition after ive been on the ship since day 1 </3

the darkness of the night encroaches on the villa as the islanders head off to bed. theres been a certain sense of peace and calm recently, and knowing everyone is coupled up with someone brings a specific type of happiness to olandria. she feels content knowing she was able to choose someone that she had been wishing to explore a connection with during her duration in the villa.

everyone was settling into bed, the lights were out and some of the couples were trying to get some shut eye. with the faint light of his phone, nic navigates to his shared bed after successfully peeing inside the toilet this time.

he'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited to be in a couple with olandria again, and now he gets to actually sleep next to her? with (supposedly) no road blocks in the way?

the one shred of doubt in nics mind came from his uncertainty about whether olandria actually liked him romantically, or if this was going to be another platonic situation. seeing as he barely recovered from her rejection in the past, he really hoped it wouldn't be the latter. the man was determined to take it as slow as necessary if it meant olandria would open up to him in the end.

as he got situated under the sheets, he saw olandria shuffling her legs under the blanket a bit, awake and still unaccustomed to cuddling in the villa. he found it cute at first, but a pang of sadness hit him as he realized why she hadn't cuddled with anyone thus far.

scooching a bit closer he leaned into olandrias ear and whispered “are you awake?” obviously knowing the answer but just wanting to tease her. she responded by flicking her foot towards him and a footsies match ensued as they tried their best to not wake the other islanders.

their playfighting was interuptted by the sounds of smooches fairly close by. the direction and volume of the noise alluded that chris and huda were getting...freaky, and they didnt want be awake to hear it.

nic eventually settled down, attempting to sleep when he felt heat and an ever-so-slight pressure on the front half-of his body. he felt the warmth of olandrias smaller frame in the bed with him and suddenly became hyper-aware of himself and his surroundings. nic froze, not wanting to overstep but also desiring to be close to the woman in front of him.

the man tried his best to revel in the sensation while it lasted, but olandria was the one in control here. she always was, and nic knew with every fiber of his being that he wanted to serve her needs. she moved away from him and crooned her neck to face nic, her big brown eyes somehow found his in the darkness and olandria whispered “can you cuddle me? please?”

something about her voice felt particularly vulnerable and delicate, as if she had been waiting for this semblance of affection all season. now that he had explicit consent to finally hold her close, he didn't plan on letting go.

he frees his arm from the sheets and wraps it around olandrias non-existent waist, finally relishing in her warmth against his body. fire ran through the current of his chest, stopping at his heart and sending prickles of heat all over his body. he felt like he was finally where he was meant to be after all these weeks with the person he truly adores.

before he could bask in the heat, olandria moved back towards nic again, pressing her ass into the perfect crevice nic created with the lower half of his body.

flutters erupted throughout his body, increasingly more aware at the soft, plush globe prodding dangerously close to his dick. heavier breaths began to overtake him. if she kept backing up, nic didn't know what he was going to do.

but then he thought back to olandria. how much he respects and understands her wishes to take things slow, especially after how taylor treated her. he never wanted to do anything she wasn't okay with.

nic lightly squeezed her waist in response to her advances, signaling he was okay with it, but didn't plan on overstepping her boundaries.

olandria responded again by grinding her ass into his already hardening dick, eliciting nics eyes to flutter shut as his jaw hung slack letting out a barely intelligible moan.

“fuck olandria…” his whispers dangerously close to her ear. she pressed back one more time to give nic the greenlight, he didnt have to be told twice.

lifting his leg to go over hers, he very carefully begins to dryhump her round ass like a dog in heat. panting at the delicious pressure against his already hard dick.

rutting against her made all the noise and static nic had been worrying about all day dissipate. he was here in the moment with olandria, chasing after a high he hasn't known since their heated make-out in soul ties.

nic wanted to last for her and show how good he could be, but olandrias body was too much to bear. before she even got fully situated, his peak crashes into him, cumming hard in his pants. his eyes rolled back into his head as he decorated his boxers with his release dedicated to the beautiful woman in front of him, all while softly moaning her name.

“ahn- o-olandria” he rode out his high, rubbing his softening dick in its sticky enclosure against her ass once last time with the wind knocked out of him completely.

nic finally found himself grounded back on earth and got up to freshen himself up in the bathroom and change his boxers. finding his way back to the bed, he leans on the bed, caging in olandria with his arms. her eyes meet his in the darkness and a meaningful glance was exchanged between them, both approving of what just transpired.

nic leaned down and whispered a soft “i really do like you olandria” and olandria responded by propping herself up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. nic grinned and pecked her back, knowing that if he continued they would end up disturbing the rest of the islanders. he crawled back into bed entirely too giddy and held her close as they drifted off to sleep.

he had so much to tell ace tomorrow.

edit: vote nicolandria pls and thanks yall 🙂‍↕️

#nicolandria #olandria love island #olandria carthen #nic and olandria #nic vansteenberghe #nic love island #love island fic #love island usa #love island season 7

421 notes · View notes

gothcsz · 4 months ago

Text

⧽ ⠀ ── ⠀ 𝗦𝗔𝗙𝗘𝗧𝗬 𝗡𝗘𝗧 ﹕ Modern!Marcus Acacius Fic

PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Marcus Acacius x Afro-Latina!Original Character

SERIES SUMMARY: Marcus Acacius finds more than what he expected on a sugar dating app.

SERIES TAGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Modern AU. Written in 2nd person POV (you). Sugar daddy Marcus Acacius/Sugar baby original character. Age gap [Marcus is 50/OC is 25+]. SMUT. Developing relationship. OC is explicitly described as a curvy woman of color: darker skin tone, curly hair texture, etc. Everyone is still encouraged to read! OC is afab and able bodied. OC has a name. Marcus is recently divorced. Marcus comes from old money and is a businessman. Written by BIWOC for BIWOC. <3

A/N: This is for the real ones that get it. If you get it, come and get y’all juice. If you don’t TURN THE OTHER WAY! 🙂‍↕️ Dedicated to all the BIWOC that hardly ever see themselves in stories like this where they are desired by a sexy older man that’s filthy rich. #DEITAKEOVER!

⧽ I. — PART ONE ⧽ II. — PART TWO (tba)

↳ more coming soon…

©️ @ovaryacted & @gothcsz 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x woc #gladiator ii #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfic #woc reader #poc reader #sugar daddy au #kat's writing.#ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

505 notes · View notes

chimeranauts · 1 month ago

Text

woke dog in minecraft; aka Nothing There as a cpm model

he's so polite and nicies. see? ^ he sits

edit; PSA u can get this guy to play as in your own java mc game here :3

#i did not realize how hard it is to texture like. flesh and guts??? until i tried it goddamn #nic; cpm #lobotomy corporation #in other news i've got the coffin modeled on erlcliff :fire: i just have to. texture it. which ive procrastinated by making this model and #might just keep procrastinating by making a sun/shower hc #or actually finishing a fic for once #gif

382 notes · View notes

ovaryacted · 4 months ago

Text

SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#dr robby x reader #dr robby smut #dr robby x you #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #doctor robby #noah wyle #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

2K notes · View notes

peachyggirl · 1 month ago

Note

nic & reader in the pucker or pie challenge !! ( smut or teasing whatever is fine )

♡ pucker or pie - nic love island s7

kissing, licking??, this is so bad i wrote this when i was like half asleep 😭 NOT PROOFREAD

you sit between amaya and cierra as nic walks up to the stand. everybody cheers as he picks a question card, “which islander do you think would be the sweetest in bed?” he reads off. he looks up at you instantly, “y/n!”

ace whoops and claps. you smile softly and walk up, “i’m not, by the way. i’m very mean,” you say to nic. he raises his brows, “we’ll see.”

he flips the pie or kiss card. you stare, “kiss.. please kiss,” you whisper to yourself. “pie! pie! pie!” jeremiah and taylor chant.

“pie!” nic shouts. you scrunch your face, “boo!” nic picks up a pie, putting the cherry in your mouth. you eat it as you stare up at him. he flicks the stem, “you ready?” he asks with a smug smile. you roll your eyes, “get it over with.”

“be gentle!” chelley says.

you close your eyes, the cream pie coating your face. charlie laughs loudly, “that’s a lot!”

nic wipes off your eyes softly, “you mad?” he asks. you look up at him, “basically.” he stares at you for a second before kissing you. you furrow your brows, kissing him back.

the rest of the islanders cheer. he pulls back, licking some of the cream off of your mouth. you giggle softly and look up at him. he smiles at you and sits you back down. taylor shakes your shoulders with a loud laugh.

you look at nic again, he stares back at you. his thumb wiping more cream off of your face, and licking his thumb. you swat his hand away, “stop it, dad.”

nic smirks, “ohh… i like that.” you smack his arm, “i’m never calling a guy daddy so go get some other girl to.”

nic freezes for a second like you just punched him in the soul. then he leans in, still wiping cream off his thumb, that smug little smirk curling at his lips.

“ohh, is that right?” he murmurs. “cool, cool… guess i’ll just have to make you say my name instead.” you blink, laughing softly. and shove him again, harder this time. he leans back, hands up like he’s innocent.

“i’m kidding!” he tilts his head. “unless?”

you roll your eyes, “you’re so unserious.”

nic pulls you close, “and yet here you are, covered in cream… kissing me.”

#nic love island x reader #nic love island #love island season 7 #love island usa #love island fic #love island x reader #woc reader #black reader #poc reader

537 notes · View notes

jaeminvore · 9 months ago

Text

room(hate) | L.JN (M) — part I

SYNOPSIS: all you wanted was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital. All you needed was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital, but even that was considered a luxury in these trying times. A luxury blatantly stolen by your roommate, Jeno Lee, who seemed to have an endless line of bodies to fuck preventing you from getting at least an hour shut eye. It was annoying. It was disrupting and you seriously hoped that Jeno's dick falls off one day.

PART I (you are here) | PART II

[AO3 link for easier reading! Though please do consider leaving your thoughts on here if you’d like! I’d appreciate it sm 🥹💖]

GENRE: roommate au, non-idol au, slice of life-ish, unrequited hate, roommates with benefits, domesticity, porn with plot, fluff, comedy, crack treated seriously.

WORD COUNT: 18.3K out of 50K

CONTENT WARNINGS: afab!reader, a reader-insert but no ‘Y/N’ is used, MC's a little mean (blame it on the sleep deprivation), Mark has an unnamed girlfriend, Jeno's kind of an asshole (not on purpose) at first, mild slut-shaming, banter as forms of flirting/foreplay [smut warnings underneath the cut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

SMUT WARNINGS: Jeno has a big dick. fingering, squirting, doggy, unprotected sex (please practice safe-sex unlike these two), back-shots, aftercare.

NOTE: save me beatbox Jeno... s̸a̷v̷e̵ ̶̟̀m̸̞̐̇ë̴̠̟̤̆... everything is consensual btw! MC just looooves to deny and deny and deny because not only does Jeno put the 'D' in dick, he also puts the 'D' in denial <3 if i sound a little too in love it’s bc i am i love that man and i need him so bad 🧍🏻‍♀️

"You like your peace, but you love a little chaos." — Maze by Alina Baraz

"I want you to love like you hate me and fuck me so crazy, crazy." — Lava Lamp by Lolo Zouaï

“When you first get a taste and your heart starts to race.”

Mark thought it would be best to part ways after living together for four years.

He was leaving you.

“I’m not leaving you,” Mark corrected. “I’m moving in with my girlfriend.”

“That does not make it any better!”

Mark Lee was leaving you.

Not as a side-piece. Not as his ‘actual’ girlfriend (gross!), but leaving you to fend for yourself as his best friend. Which, fine, perhaps you could have started with that and excluded your dramaticism, but no one could really blame the immediate distress when you were about to lose Golden Boy Mark Lee—golden in many ways such as being the perfect roommate (minus his awful cooking. He was a great haggling partner for cheap deals, though)—to domesticity.

The thought of throwing all that away in exchange for less would send anyone into a downward spiral, if you could consider your crazed search for the next best thing as that; treating it as if you had to gamble a huge chunk of your life for the sake of retaining that same level of comfort and ease you got from Mark.

The only catch was, you had no fucking idea what it meant to gamble. Neither in the literal, nor in the figurative sense.

Which should have been telling considering that you had never, not even once, thought of exchanging a portion of your paycheck for chips you knew you’d immediately lose the second the lack of knowledge and experience showed on your losing set of cards. The closest comparable scenario you could think of was accompanying your grandmother to Mahjong Sundays with her friends, but even then, keeping up with the rules was rather difficult for a kid who only knew toys and the air time of her favorite cartoon.

Granny’s friends and Granny herself hadn’t bothered with explaining it to you either, being far too invested with their acrylic tiles. What you did learn, though, was how agitating the sounds were when they hit together. It just about evoked such a raw feeling of irritation a seven year old could go through. The messy aftermath of snot and tears did it for Granny that she made sure to ask if you’d let her drag you along.

In short: no gambling experience, yet going in full-on with that mindset equated a recipe for a shitty disaster just waiting to implode on itself.

Still, you liked to think that you had played your cards right during the whole selection process.

Details of each possible candidate were carefully written down—color-coded, bullet points, foot-notes. Some probable pet peeves highlighted to be raised for another round of deliberation—thanks to the extensive background checks you had done on your own accord, then later checked by Mark pushed by your unrelenting insistence. A second opinion would help narrow down your choices and who better to fill that role other than your own roommate?

Well, ex-roommate since—again—Mark had succumbed to the clutches of domestic bliss.

And it’s not like it couldn’t be seen from miles away. Everyone and their mothers knew Mark’s intentions right when he had brought home a shih tzu—a dog he and his girlfriend decided to co-parent despite living separately—to look after while Mark’s other half went away for a work trip. Really, anyone could tell that he was itching to start anew under the same roof with his girlfriend, but you didn't expect it to be that day to be so soon.

Who was going to play as your budget therapist now?

If there was anyone out there who knew how exhausting being in healthcare was, it was Mark. He understood the grievances that came with being a nurse and he was always there to lend an ear until you felt less burdened by the frustrations you had carried throughout a demanding shift. It was like an inborn skill he had, finding it in himself to simply know what to say and how to bring you back down.

No one could ever replace Mark. Your co-worker. Ex-roommate. Your best friend and now that he was off to start a new chapter in his life, in love as he could ever be, this called for new coping mechanisms, and a new roommate because there was no way in hell you were going to pay in full when you had other expenses already making a sizeable dent in your next paycheck. Making it bigger was not an option you would risk.

That was another reason why you insisted on the in-depth research amounting to almost a month’s worth of what was essentially the text-book definition of stalking.

From: [email protected] Subject the roommate games Attached: tributes_lol.doc

Don’t you think you’re being a little too nit-picky with all this? When did being a Leo become a deal breaker for you haha. Like people can’t change their birthdays and do I need to remind you that I’m a Leo? We’ve managed to not kill each other over the years. There’s also Jaemin? Dejun? Who are also Leos? Who are also our close friends? What is your problem with Leos? I thought Geminis were the worst?

To: [email protected] Subject: the roommate games Attached: tributes_lol_FINAL.doc

yes, and?? THREE Leos are enough i don’t need more! in my defense i made the worst mistake of becoming emotionally attached to you guys except Jaemin (and Hyuck by association) forced friendship onto me if u remember. he’s like a stray cat that wont leave me alone.

From: [email protected] Subject: the roommate games

This is literally just a blank document?

To: [email protected] Subject: the roommate games

Which means your selection was ASS!!!!!! i dont like ANY of them. One has a criminal record of insurance fraud and the other is weird as FUCK dude like who cradles and pets their fucking goldfish like its a cat?how bout this, do u personally know anyone in need of a place? LIKE someone at least 70% normal

Radio silence. Almost five hours of it and sitting in front of your laptop refreshing the shit out of your inbox as if that would do anything seemed like the worst possible choice of action when aiming for a productive afternoon.

By the time you heard from Mark again, golden light illuminated the living area that you had to squint, picking up your phone to read his text messages.

Mark (ER): I found someone Mark (ER): remember Jeno Lee?

You: no lol

Mark (ER): lol Mark (ER): tall, muscular and kind of a hermit?

You: ur not really giving me much to work with You: for all i know jaem legally changed his name to jeno for some reason

Mark (ER): he’s nicer than Jaemin

You: 😟 You: one of hyuck and jaem’s friends i assume?

Mark (ER): correct Mark (ER): he’s looking for a place Mark (ER): and he’s likely the 70% normal to your 30% normal 😁

You: wait what’s my 70% then?

Mark (ER): insane

You: die

“His lease is ending soon too.” Mark brought up a few days later in the middle helping him pack up for the great move, and it was nice out too. Not too cold, not too hot—really, just a nice day out with the perfect temperature accompanied by an occasional breeze, and yet Mark chose this day to pack up his life, enlisting your help when you could be doing something else that didn’t remind you of the impending loneliness that was about to come.

Even the outside wasn’t safe from the beginnings of grief.

The outside, a picturesque view of the city’s greens gradually bleeding into the many shades of fall framed by the large window, became the very subject of your mournful eyes.

Brooding became your default state, whereas Mark carried on plucking his vinyl records, a small collection of novelty trinkets from your joint travels and the handful of thick textbooks from nursing school he refused to throw out. I might need them at some point, y’know. He once told you after catching your eyebrows raised in question. Just because we graduated doesn’t mean we magically know everything and Mark was mostly right about these things.

You were going to miss Mark being mostly right about these things. Whether it would be over something trivial, or medical related, he just was. Always a step ahead of you in many cases.

Summer was at its peak when Mark had sat you down to tell you of his plans, the sun harsh with its light and adding on to the steady increase in temperature. He decided to push through once the summer heat dissipated completely in anticipation of a chilly fall, and just like how the seasons came and went, watching Mark stow away bits and pieces of himself into the boxes was an inevitable change you had to accept.

The loud scratch of the packaging tape made him wince as you sealed the box. “Who?”

“Jeno,” He repeated, reminding you of Donghyuck and Jaemin’s elusive, so-and-so friend as he took the tape from you with a pointed stare. “y’know, your new roomie?”

“I haven’t even said yes.”

“Trust me, you will.” Mark looked very sure of his claim, too. “Anyways—” he waved towards the air “—said something about his lease ending in a few weeks or so? He wanted somewhere close to work and our complex is like, real close to his office. A win on both sides?”

At least it wasn’t just you benefiting from the change.

“Right. How the hell am I gonna get to work without your car now?”

“That’s all you can say?”

“Hm, no,” you said, turning to face Mark with a straight face. “Do you think I could bribe Jeno into driving me to work?”

Mark huffed, “you’re stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” you cried, doing an awful job of keeping the waterworks from overflowing with frustrated swipes to your face. “This is so stupid—I’m stupid—God, you only live like thirty minutes away.”

Mark, ever the one to find his friends endearing even in the most undignified of conditions, let out a fond coo while gathering you up in his arms in a tight squeeze. “I’m gonna miss your morning arguments with the coffee machine too.”

The dig was met with a thwack on the arm.

Wherever Mark went, you followed. Only because he was literally your ride to and from work and how convenient it was that you both worked at the same private hospital. He was the type to simply offer a ride when you obviously needed it. For years, it had been like that.

Now, Mark stayed behind. Where he belonged, leaving him in the care of his girlfriend practically absorbing his oozing joy as they both coddled her—their dog, Ziggy, just outside of their apartment complex. The couple were completely lost in one another, inadvertently forgetting the piles of boxes in Mark’s car that had to be brought up sooner or later. They had all the time in the world anyway and it was understandable that Mark would want to simply bask in the moment with the one person that made every waking day worth it.

And leaving them behind to catch the next bus was a bittersweet pinch to your heart.

Mark was off to unfold the next chapter of his life, and here you were still, stuck in an endless cycle, wondering if you’d ever get to start on a new chapter of yours, too.

Jeno Lee hadn't exactly matched whom you pictured in your head.

When there was Jaemin and Donghyuck, it was kind of an unspoken rule that your one-way ticket to the nearest psychiatric ward was to be willingly associated with the likes of them.

Years of dealing with their joint efforts of embodying the human version of a headache, you kind of knew how to deal with whatever Jeno could potentially have in store for you. Jaemin and Donghyuck got along like a house on fire when the weather was fair, or when the planets aligned by some convoluted space related jargon Jisung would happily indulge any of you with. On any other day, they simply could not stand each other, wanting nothing to do with the other and arguing for the sake of arguing.

Still, they were the best of friends and having their differences was simply unavoidable, yet the many similarities they shared became a sturdy foundation for their friendship to last a long time.

Being unapologetically insane was one of them.

One’s involvement automatically entailed that they were just as deranged to some degree, and seeing the elusive piece to the trio you weren’t even aware was a trio, Jeno Lee—in the flesh—with a smile so sweet and unassuming gave you an earth-shattering wake-up call and reminder that you probably shouldn’t solely rely on baseless assumptions, especially when it came to people. Insane friends aside.

Other than that, you didn’t think a man with a face and body carefully sculpted by marble and brought to life by the gods themselves would be up to some milder version of fuckery like they were, now that Jeno thought to introduce himself.

The apartment felt staggeringly bigger than what you were used to with the absence of what made it belong to Mark too, though Jeno did a swell enough job to fill in the empty spaces with his presence alone.

It was brief. The meeting with the potential roommate, but nothing short of nerve-wracking when the man had the vibe of a quintessential supermodel top modeling agencies would fight tooth and nail for, decked in athleisure that had shown how he was built to all hell. A hundred-eighty-something centimeters of lean muscle cut with precision; clearly the fruit of Jeno’s possibly strict lifestyle, quietly taking everything in with a sense of wonder, yet simultaneously staying attentive as you ran your mouth about the apartment’s features and how sharing possible expenses would work.

You know, the vital stuff you’d want to know when it involved sharing your space with another person.

Which raised a few questions from Jeno himself. Little things along the lines of how often trash would be collected? If the apartment complex had a laundry room and if not, was there a laundromat by at least walking distance? How about a convenience store? A gym closer than his current one? These were answered fairly quickly, from which Jeno seemed pleased when his eyes turned into little half moons when he smiled, bringing your attention to the beauty mark under his right eye. God, was it adorable and frankly, you still couldn’t believe he chose to associate with two of the most annoying people you knew.

It was cute. Jeno Lee was cute, but among everything he had going on—your wandering eyes greatly appreciated the free viewing—his voice was what stuck out to you the most with how gentle he had spoken.

A voice deep and rumbly, yet warmth coated each syllable rattling the beating palm-sized thing in your chest the more the carefully articulated sentences passed through Jeno’s naturally pouted lips. He talked like he was trying to get into your good graces; like talking in any other way would risk disrupting the pleasant ambience set in stone before Jeno’s visit, which wasn’t at all necessary when Mark practically sang his praises.

And Jeno was all Mark talked about post-moving out.

Seriously, if he hadn’t chosen the medical path like you had, Mark Lee would have made a mean sales rep. You even felt the need to stop him and ask if he was still talking about a human being and not a brand new car right after he had his fill of listing down exactly why you should take Jeno in. How he essentially met all your admittedly nit-picky roommate requirements.

Mild-temperament. What was he, a dog? Jeno was neat and tidy. Claimed that he couldn't function if measly things such as a coaster was askew. Oh good. A neat freak just like me. There were also a few pages of referrals Mark had shown—yes, printed—from previous landlords and roommates because that was a thing, apparently. Squeaky clean criminal record (with a cute face like that, it didn’t come as a surprise). Worked in tech. In the same income bracket as you.

A Taurus man.

Which shouldn’t have given you that much of a start, really. You haven’t had much experience dealing with any Taurus people—a Taurus man, no less, so this would be decidedly new.

He is reliable, persistent, and down-to-earth, with a strong sense of duty and an admirable work ethic; the kind of guy you can always count on in both your personal and professional life. He is not one to make waves or cause drama; he just wants to do his job and go home at the end of the day. A Taurus man is all about practicality, stability, and security.

He wants nothing more than to provide the protection of his loved ones and create a harmonious home life.

At least that was what the article wrote (ignoring the in-your-face romantic tone. You were looking for a roommate, not a husband), sent by an astrology-fixated Donghyuck who seemed a little too eager providing his insight when asked for his opinion on Jeno and Taurus people in general being acquainted with you.

“A little stability won’t hurt. It’ll be good for you,” Donghyuck had mentioned over the phone after grilling you and your astrological sign, antagonizing you for no reason. It went mostly ignored though, preoccupied with reading a case you were assisting with Dr. Kim tomorrow. “and nothing screams stability more than Jeno’s credit score.”

An excellent credit score, from what Mark had relayed over cheap Chinese takeout and never would you have thought you’d cream your pants from that information, yet here you were. Financial stability was a viable trait you’d consider looking for in someone, so the decision was a no-brainer.

“Oh, before I go.”

You swallowed something down like a scream when Jeno whirled around to face you while digging into his gym bag.

“Mark probably gave you the rundown about me but—” a folded piece of paper was produced from within the depths of his bag, having you blinking owlishly when he wriggled it for you to take.

Jeno’s palm was warm under the gentle brush of your fingers as you plucked it from his own set, pointedly ignoring the zing that jolted through you.

Arial. Font size twelve. Single spaced and justified, and it wrote what Mark had been yapping about all this time prior to having Jeno in the apartment. His MBTI, a rundown of his personality with all his quirks and habits included (you snorted rather loudly when catching the italicized ‘mild-temperament’). There was his daily routine that heavily emphasized his recreation time such as cycling, working out, gaming and a small pool of sports. His likes and dislikes, and making you laugh the loudest was his disclaimer, something Jeno was rather proud of when you caught his pleased smile.

Disclaimer: Homebody, but will go out with you if you ask nicely. I get lost in gaming a lot so you might have to knock very loudly, or even call my phone. I get sulky very easily. Please be nice to me (.◜◡◝)

The emoticon was just the cherry on top. It looked so much like him—an absolutely precious detail that you had to do a side-by-side comparison, only to find him already gazing at you in wonder.

He cleared his throat, smiling and cheeks glowing with the faintest of color. “I figured you’d want a detailed resumé. He said you’d appreciate it.” Jeno joked with the smile widening into a soft grin that showcased his perfect white teeth, long fingers raking through his dark blue hair, both in a manner that screamed boyish and charming.

He was charming, which came as a belated, mortifying realization. Nano seconds was all it took to picture life sharing everything with a cute-faced gym rat and his equally cute grin you’d have to face every single waking day for fuck knows how long until you went insane.

It could either be the best or the worst thing to come out of this. You’re not sure yet.

Though it’s as if Jeno sensed your mental turmoil because he didn’t even give you a second to rethink, leaning in close enough that you got a whiff of his cologne as he poked a particular spot on the paper a few times, grin dimming into something gentler where his eyes gained this puppy-ish quality to them followed by a head tilt.

“My number is on here,” he stressed with one last poke to his number, ducking his head low enough to catch your gaze. “Call or text me if I make the cut, yeah?”

And as the door shut behind Jeno after flashing you one last dazzling smile, you slumped against the wall with a harsh sigh, mind racing and heart about to fly out of your rib cage with the paper still clutched tightly in between your fingers.

Jesus.

You: I think I just saw a god

Mark (ER): lol? 😆 Mark (ER): how was it with Jeno

You: i literally just said i think i saw a god

Approximately three hours later, you’ve earned yourself a Mark replacement, much to the namesake’s chagrin and stealing a piece of your chicken tenders as a form of retribution.

Approximately a week and half later, Jeno hung his degree and graduation portrait next to yours right above the TV, a detail both of you found hilarious and continued to giggle over even after clearing two greasy boxes of pizza for your first dinner together as roommates.

Approximately two months or so later, Jeno had unknowingly made an enemy for himself:

You.

II.

“When you go out your way and you don’t see a change.”

Frankly, being in this sticky situation could have been avoided entirely if you hadn’t let Mark’s flattery towards your roommate lure you into a false sense of security.

Frequent reassurance was an absolute necessity.

It was good to just know about things and your ex-roommate had made Jeno sound promising the handful of times your conversation would segue to him. It was your own hubris in Mark’s reassurance that had led you to this—that, and Mark had perfected the art of persuasion with words.

He’d always been good at spinning the narrative for his own advantage (Jeno’s in this case). Too good, in fact, where everything that flew past his mouth left no room for worry to fester when you’ve not yet lost anything of significance from trusting Mark and his judgment.

That was until you did. Blindsided by soft grins, half-moon eyes and a killer body you’d catch yourself quietly admiring whenever Jeno, oddly enough, took to working out in the living area.

So in conclusion, this was all Mark’s fault.

“This is all your fault.”

“Yo, what?” Mark laughed in that way where you just knew that he knew he fucked up. Forced, awkward, and a little terrified of what was about to come. “What’d I do?” He asked anyway, knowing he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep without finding out just what he did to get accused.

“You shouldn’t have pimped Jeno out to me—“

Mark rolled his eyes. “Not what I did—“

“Pimped Jeno out to me, ‘else I wouldn’t be suffering this much.”

“Hold on—you asked me to help look for a roommate,” he started, voice pitching up in disbelief. “And I spent days helping you sort out every important detail—even the nit-picky ones—for you! Only to ask for someone who wasn’t even listed on the fuckin’ doc. And in the end, you said yes!"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah. Clearly a mistake on my part."

As he ranted, Mark’s gestures grew more and more frantic in defense of himself, only for his arms to fall back to his sides with a huff when you barely blinked, unimpressed, and then folding them above his chest with a pout before mumbling, “how’d you even find out about the criminal record and the weird fish owner anyway?”

You graced him with a lazy shrug. “Fascinating what you can achieve with technology.”

He stilled, squinting in thought before letting out a resigned sigh. “Donghyuck.”

“Duh? The closest I got to hacking was looking for a cracked Sims 2 copy.” You soon got grounded by Dad when you had infected the family computer with malware, sadly. “Hyuck’s surprisingly useful when wants to be.”

Or greedy. Ten dollars were raised once you goaded Donghyuck into sussing out any deal-breakers with a snide comment or two slipping out about him not being able to find anything that would make you second guess any of the potential roommates. Naturally, Donghyuck took your provocation rather seriously, treating it as the be-all and end-all to prove a point.

Ten minutes later, he was ten dollars richer. Crazy what people would do for money.

“Conflict of interest!” you raised again, loudly, making Mark flinch. “I barely get six hours of sleep now because of your emotional ties with my sworn enemy.”

Sure there were many benefits of being approachable, but you were somewhat of a negative Nancy and all you could think of was how Mark’s painstaking kindness could potentially get taken advantage of by some lurking asshole out there.

Which was exactly what had happened. With you as collateral.

“Uh, not gonna lie, but I think you’re being a little dramatic,” he sniffed, biting roughly into the sandwich you graciously made for him. Biting the hands that fed him, how lovely.

“I’m being dramatic?” you said, incredulous, and then flicked his forehead just to hear him cry out in pain. “Okay—try having Jeno’s headboard slamming against the wall as your lullaby, which—surprise, surprise—won’t help you sleep at all!”

You paused to regulate your breathing because you were getting a little too heated and you didn’t want to traumatize Mark even more by angrily exploding into pieces. Even as a nurse and though rare, he still got a little squeamish.

“I’m just saying, you’d think he’d have some shame and invest in those rubber bumpers, but no—he just had to make sure I know he’s getting way more sex than me.”

And he did. Have way more sex than you, that is, which was kind of insane now that you’ve thought about it. Ego-bruising too when the sounds you desperately tried to drown out still breached through a pair of neon green earplugs stuck deep as they could go into your ear holes. His questionable refractory period kept you up on most nights he had girls over, wondering how short it was that he’s able to bounce back and keep you up until the witching hour with the awful remix of moans, groans, screams and whatever noises one could make during sex. Why was it always the innocent looking ones the freakiest? Why must you suffer through all this?

You made a low noise in your throat, almost like a growl just thinking about what you've gone through the last few weeks. Fucking asshole.

Mark’s eyes widened. Whether it was from your admission, or the almost inhuman sound you made, the simmering rage wasn’t that hard to miss. The moment Mark walked into the apartment, he could visibly tell how wound up you were from your pinched expression while you waited for the bread to toast.

He’s been here for almost two hours and you have yet to relax. Mark’s current concern was what if your face gets permanently stuck scowling like that?

“Huh,” he breathed out, “didn’t know Jeno got bitches that often.”

“Mark.”

Mark immediately backtracked at the edge to your voice. “Uh, I mean—“ he cleared his throat, “fuck Jeno. I hope his dick, like, falls off.”

The beseeching shine of his eyes for your approval would have been something to laugh at if it weren’t for the anger taking full reign of the receptors responsible for regulating your emotions, not letting it process anything but the bottled up frustration from weeks of enduring the extra noises accompanying most of your nights.

So much for creating a harmonious home life with a Taurus man. Fuck that article, fuck whoever wrote it, and fuck Jeno Lee in particular. Seriously.

“You’re more pissed off than usual.”

“Yeah? Hadn’t noticed,” you said dryly.

“Dude, c’mon. Y’know what I mean,” Mark giggled, reaching out to pinch your cheek. You swat his hand away with a whine when he tried to go for the other. “Sorry, sorry—just—I feel like he did more if you—“ he made a vague gesture to the air in front of you “—are this upset.”

“I think keeping me up with the horrendously loud fucking takes the cake.”

“I dunno. You lost your fuckin’ marbles when I ate your food that one time.” He shuddered, knowing fully well how touchy you were with the prepped meals you slaved for hours every Saturday. “Was that what he did? That’s the one thing I told him not to do.”

Being this far into your career, cooking was almost like a chore since you barely had any opportunities to cook actual at-home-meals that required significant amounts of time and patience. You could even say that it was more appropriate to call it a luxury almost as most of your time was dedicated to the hospital—to your patients whose lives were also in your hands, and pre-made food was the only solution to fit three-meals-a-day into your demanding schedule.

The long-lasting effects of when he, out of sheer desperation, snatched your jar of banana chia pudding still lingered when he always made it a point to ask if he could have one bite, or a quick sip after the rather traumatizing verbal lashing you’ve subjected him to.

“No. Jeno knows not to do that at least.”

Like Mark, it’s the one thing you had stressed right when you had Jeno settle in. Not that he minded, sans the obligatory head tilt when he didn’t quite get it until your further explanation. He even offered his help with the meal-prep which kind of—for a fleeting moment—made you feel a little guilty thinking back to the conversation (puppy eyes, full lips jutted out into a thoughtful pout. More puppy eyes and Jeno’s weird, trademarked noises of confusion) until you were violently reminded of his fuckery.

Perhaps the whole golden retriever-like temperament and attentiveness balanced out his newly discovered predilection for whoring himself out.

Mark heaved a heavy sigh as if he was the one with a 24/7 sex noise problem. “Well, what could be worse than Jeno banging some random chick?”

You gave him a grim smile.

See, the thing was, it hadn’t always been like this.

You were no stranger to peace as you did get a generous taste of it with Jeno thrown into the mix. A peaceful coexistence between a surgical nurse and some tech guy.

A routine had been built around having different work hours where you were mostly gone from morning to evening when you weren’t on-call, while Jeno was, more often than not, stationary since he had the choice to either work from home on his elaborate PC set-up, or in the office he’d drive to when needed.

It was relatively normal. Jeno stayed true to the being neat claim and he kept to himself most of the time. He did his set of chores listed on the mini whiteboard stuck to the fridge and proved himself to be quite the efficient handyman also; assembling furniture with ease as well as fixing up superficial problems in the apartment. He was a decent cook too and Jeno generally acted what one would expect from a proper roommate who was here to make a home with you.

It had been normal. It had been peaceful, until you realized you were housing a potential sex fiend. What made this whole thing exponentially worse, though, was that the last girl he had brought home wasn't just some random chick that had fallen victim to Jeno’s charms.

It was Jimin Yu, your work best friend and the only other person who knew of your sleeping problem caused by the root of said problem whom you were starting to believe was sent to you as a divine punishment for fuck knows what. Which was kind of funny to think about considering Mark, his faith and him technically being the catalyst of it all, but you digressed. This was literally a slow-burn epidemic happening in real life, and yet no one else seemed to be alarmed by it.

Jimin Yu. Another promising young woman lost to some fucking loser (see: Jeno). Again.

How you came to find out that it was your best friend getting her back blown out six ways to fucking Sunday right before a full day of two major operations waiting for you to scrub and assist in was from pure accidental intuition alone.

And anger.

Especially anger.

There was a self-imposed rule you strictly followed: do not leave your room until you were sure the chosen girl from Jeno’s seemingly never-ending roster left. Saving both you and the poor girl from the embarrassment was the least you could do when you yourself would rather avoid any risks of running into anyone in someone else’s home right after a hook-up.

And, well, there was a reason why the saying ‘rules are meant to be broken’ was popularized, because you broke that one simple rule that had supposedly kept your remaining sanity intact.

Two hours left before your shift started and you were more husk than person from the lack of sleep. All rationale completely consumed by anger, an ever-present emotion that seemed to be the only thing that kept you going—and consequently, what had led you to shoot out of bed once the telltale sounds of Jeno’s door clicking open, followed by the hurried footsteps reached your ears.

You skidded to a stop, stunned.

“You motherfucker.”

This was the ultimate act of betrayal.

“It’s—It’s not what it looks like!” Was Jimin’s immediate defense right when the thunderous twist to your face grew more and more pronounced with each stomp of your feet. Yet her words didn’t exactly help her case when:

There were obvious splashes of reds, blues and purples marking her slender neck.

Her hair was a downright mess, and you knew Jimin harbored some sort of complex for her long luscious locks, so this was new—her not bothering to comb it out, clearly in a rush to leave.

There was a slight limp in her step which just said everything.

And lastly, you caught Jeno sneaking Jimin out of his room and out of the fucking apartment, clearly expecting to not run into you.

“Ah-ah. No,” you interrupted before she could even start groveling. “I’ll deal with you later. Get out.”

Jimin’s shoulders sagged, big wet eyes staring into your very soul and it took you a Herculean amount of strength to keep your gaze ahead and not break under her stare; to keep your gaze set on the main perpetrator who, unlike Jimin, appeared rather contrary to her apparent distress.

Jeno stood underneath the awning in only—goodness—only a pair of gym shorts where you could clearly make out a hefty looking dick-print, completely at ease and infuriatingly handsome in spite of the disheveled state he was in; matching bruises bloomed on his milky skin, scratches littered his arms, shoulders and back and his hair was left as an artful mess atop his head.

You wanted to scream.

This was all Jeno’s fault. Not even the hurt pinching Jimin’s normally serene features was enough to lessen the tension wounding up your entire body. Not when you were already neck-deep in your own pool of unfiltered rage to even consider comforting Jimin’s momentary lapse in judgment and decision to have earth-shatteringly loud sex with your mortal enemy that the whole damn apartment complex might as well have heard.

(“I’m surprised Jimin isn’t getting as much heat since she slept with your ‘problem’. On purpose.”

You shrugged. “Men are the root of all evil.”

“Fair enough,” Mark mumbled and took a gargantuan bite of the next sandwich assembled for him. It was really a mystery how he settled down before you).

And—look, you really couldn’t care less if Jeno slept around. It was his life and he had free reign over his own body, and let’s face it, there was no way he didn’t get an obscene amount of matches on Tinder when he embodied a walking wet dream.

Jeno was far from being in your good graces at this current moment, but staying blind to the truth would only get you so far when Jeno had the physical advantages to attest to that, and the same could be said for Jimin. She could hook-up with whoever she pleased—just as easily too. Hell, you’d sleep with her too if you were a little bit interested in her—because who were you to disprove her choices? All of you were adults here, but what the main issue here was Jimin knew you had one-sided beef with your abnormally attractive roommate that fucks too loud no matter how many times you reminded him to try and keep it down, and yet she still pushed on and contributed to the recurring problem.

Truer words had never been said until Mark. You really did hope Jeno’s dick shrivels up and falls off.

Now, preferably.

Right when the door had closed behind Jimin with a soft click (after dragging her feet and sending pleading looks over her shoulder like a sad wet cat) did all the pent-up anger come out in a mess of heated words and frantic gestures.

“What the fuck.”

Each breath you took had been deep and harsh. Your face was bordering on hot to the touch from the sheer amount of rage coursing through your veins and the arduous task of resisting the urge to reach out and subject permanent damage physically, mentally and emotionally by how tightly you had clenched your fists. You could already imagine it, hands stretching towards Jeno’s neck and wringing it like a wet hand towel until it ripped in your hands—

Your roommate reacted then, as if just realizing that this wasn’t you doing a bit. It made you think of how likely it could be that Jeno got away with many things simply for being the very few that had pretty privilege as a crutch to fall onto. As for you, it would be nice to have an actual metal crutch within arm’s reach to hit him with.

He was pretty to look at, sure, but not privileged enough to keep your eye from twitching in irritation when Jeno looked the least bothered by your display, long eyelashes fluttering with each of his confused and owlish blinking.

“What?” Jeno, the village idiot, asked with imploring eyes.

“What? What do you mean ‘what’? are you—“ you cut yourself off with an incredulous, borderline manic laugh at his testosterone-filled audacity. “Are you so desperate for sex that you had to go for Jimin?”

It’s not like he wasn’t allowed to bring his own friends over since you shared the same rotation of friends and acquaintances, but really, Jimin?

“I didn’t know Jimin was off-limits. You never mentioned it.” Jeno blinked slowly with a sheepish smile. “I’ll keep that in mind next time?”

“Are you fucking—were you even listening to me? Not just now, but before too. I told you to keep it down! Many many times! I need to sleep, Jeno!”

He huffed a laugh. “Technically, it’s not really my fault if they can’t keep it down, y’know?”

You could only stare in disbelief, mouth ajar at the fact that he’s able to act proud during an argument he was likely to lose. Like dicking down someone so loud that it became a public disturbance was some kind of achievement with the way Jeno puffs out his very naked chest in the most subtlest of ways.

He wasn’t finished talking, taking your silence as a prompt to continue with a cloying curl of his mouth. “I could show you why, if you want.”

“Excuse me?”

If Jeno knew what was good for him, he would stop running his mouth right this very second. Though over time, you started to pick up on the very unfortunate fact that he lacked tact at times, and what he had let slip through his lips next proved as much.

“I’m saying,” he dragged out, like he was expecting you to catch on. “Sex reduces stress, right? The endorphin and oxytocin rush—I’ll assume you already knew that, being a nurse and all. Woman in STEM,” Jeno sang a little jingle, the smile widening into a grin that was a touch too suggestive for your liking. “I can see that you’re pent up, and I think fucking it out of you—fucking the uptightness out of you would do both of us good. A win-win situation.”

Whatever was left of the rose-tinted image of the man who had first walked into the apartment donning the sweetest eye-smile you had ever laid eyes on was wiped just like that. His grin that was meant to convey light-hearted teasing became the very image of mockery.

If you weren’t as furious then, you were now.

“Is that how you see me? Just another number to your body count?”

It would have been funny, watching Jeno’s features twist from surprise to regret at the speed of light almost, but anything he did beyond this point just added to the stockpiled annoyance ready to be spit up again the next time Jeno thought to push his luck. So no, this wasn’t hilarious in the slightest.

“I didn’t say that—”

“You implied it.”

“That’s—I was joking!”

You scoffed, “that’s not surprising. Do you think my job’s a ‘joke’ too?”

This was exhausting. You had already lost a significant amount of sleep you needed to get through work that would start in two hours—well, less now that you’ve taken the time to completely go off the rails until some semblance of remorse showed on Jeno’s person. As satisfying as it was to witness that happen in real-time, asking some time off of work just to process The Confrontation™ was a no-no, given how important your presence was in the OR and it just so happened that you couldn’t stand being in the same room as him.

He should’ve added ‘insatiable horndog’ to his disclaimer.

Jeno made it clear that he had nothing else to follow up on, doing a horrible impression of a fish out of water that you had taken as your cue to leave.

And for the first time in forever, you couldn’t wait to breathe in the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

Being this bothered by your cold indifference was not at all on Jeno’s bingo card.

Jeno was within your visage when you came through the door, yet you paid him no mind as you bee-lined towards your bedroom, like he didn’t exist to you. And, okay, maybe he did deserve that—no, he for sure deserved that after hours of reflecting. He wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate his excuse of not really being aware that the walls were thinner than he had thought.

Jeno winced at the mini play-by-play in his head.

You definitely wouldn’t.

The clock droned on and on with its never-ending ticking. Just a quarter past eight in the evening, Jeno checked, and his heart lurched to his throat, sitting up straighter from his perch at the island counter when you finally emerged from your room. Have you forgiven him? Did this mean you were on talking terms again? Because if he had to be honest, being ignored was a lot worse than you threatening to bite his head off. At least then you were technically talking to him still and not trying to erase his existence with sheer willpower alone.

All hope of making things right, however, was shot down the moment Jeno took a quick look at your change of clothes and the large duffle bag slung over your shoulder.

Panic welled in his chest, causing him to blurt out a garbled, “where are you going?” as you headed straight for the front door.

“Anywhere but here.”

Although there was no heat behind your words from the absence of the anger you had toted around this morning, being hit by your impassive stare has him biting back the haha nice Harry Potter reference. The poorly-timed joke from this morning was the final nail in the coffin and making another one now was a sure-fire way of getting buried six feet under. Alive.

Shortly after, the door closed behind you with a soft click. Much like how Jimin left when you had sent her out, leaving Jeno alone with the deafening silence as his only companion, the pit in his stomach growing when he peeled his gaze from the paneled door to fall onto the pair of steaming cups of coffee.

Mornings for Jeno started with you standing in front of the coffee machine, half-asleep and grumbling threats to the inanimate thing. He’d grown accustomed to the sight of your sleep-ruffled state that it was obvious you had quite the fixation on coffee. At least one cup a day, three at most, you had said with a bashful smile when he caught you pouring your third cup.

Coffee was a necessity in this household. Jeno knew that, knew how you liked to drink yours and he thought making you a cup exactly how you’d like it could melt away the thick walls you had built. A peace offering, or what was supposed to be a peace offering.

Two cups sat on the quartz countertop. One almost empty while the other remained untouched even as Jeno retired for the night.

Jeno walked into an empty kitchen the morning after.

A kitchen devoid of your sleepy form that would be threatening the coffee machine to spit out the liquid bitterness faster, or else. The silence was just as deafening and the cup—your cup—was where he left it the night before in hopes of you coming back home.

You didn’t.

Fuck.

III.

“Prove me wrong by doing it right.”

“And you stayed where? For two weeks?”

“Jaem and Hyuck’s.”

Mark grimaced. “Willingly?”

You gave him a pointed look.

He raised his hands in defense. “I’m just sayin’ you have better options—like Sungchan?” Your face softened, offering a lazy shrug. “Me?”

You wrinkled your nose at the thought. “Yeah, no.”

While you had made plenty of jokes that would last a lifetime consisting of moving in with Mark and ‘the love of his life’, ranging from them becoming your second set of parents, to you being Just There with your best friend married and with kids, the appeal of third wheeling hadn’t increased in the slightest.

“I’ve had enough moaning and groaning haunting my dreams, thanks.” You snorted at the scandalized look on Mark’s face. “and I wouldn’t want to impose on Sungchan and Chenle. Thing One and Thing Two weren’t too bad.”

Although the stay had been surprisingly pleasant, with all things considered, they did poke fun at the situation at first because—duh, men. Regardless, their combined hospitality staved off the possibility of a psychotic break triggered by Jeno’s fuck-up. It would have been better if their third bedroom hadn’t been made into Marie Kondo’s personal nightmare, but the vomit green couch had been a comfortable makeshift bed. Who knew you’d end up loving the product of Jaemin’s horrendous tastes?

Jeno stayed as elusive as ever, too. You came home when you could, only to replenish your clothing and other necessities and much to your relief, you hadn’t run into him yet. Not at the apartment, not at the guys’ place (shockingly) and there was a brief moment where you thought your roommate might turn up at the hospital, what with the onslaught of texts you received, most of them apologizing and begging for you to come home, there was a time where you dreaded going to work in light of the possibility.

(“You’d think Jeno was your boyfriend with the way he’s blowing up your phone,” Donghyuck hollered from the kitchen, in the middle of cooking dinner for everyone. “He’s getting desperate with each text, babe. Even I’m feeling a little sorry for the guy.”

You looked up from the puzzle you were working on the floor with Jaemin to stare at Donghyuck, then to the space where you remembered leaving your phone on its own and now just noticing its disappearance. “How’d you get my phone? How’d you guess my passcode?”

“Zero-zero-zero-zero wasn’t that hard to guess,” Jaemin mumbled. “You’ve always been simpleminded about these things—which reminds me—you still use the same Netflix account since college, right?”).

Jeno was a no-show, thankfully. Causing a scene at work, of all places, would be way beneath you no matter how much he pissed you off.

Still, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t talk your shit from time to time.

“They’re probably faking it,” you concluded with a scoff and then quickly backtracked. “No. I know they’re faking it and it doesn’t even matter if Jeno’s tall, muscular, handsome, capable—” Mark’s eyebrows rose higher and higher, disappearing beneath his bangs as you continued on with your tangent.

“Precious eye smile—definitely a manipulation tactic… it worked on me.”

That one, you mumbled mostly to yourself, but it was audible enough to earn a short laugh from Mark which quickly snapped you out of whatever the hell that was, and then scowled when your ex-roommate, the catalyst for your suffering, tried to keep his face straight. He was doing a terrible job.

Clearing your throat—far too many times than necessary—you ignored the warmth that bloomed on the apples of your cheeks along with Mark’s insufferably knowing smirk. “My point is, there’s no way he’d be good at sex too. Like, you’re telling me Jeno made all those girls cum? Fat fucking chance. I’m sure there’s, like, a statistic disproving that.”

You didn’t even want to think what Jimin went through, especially when you’ve gotten a glimpse of what monster was begging to be freed from Jeno’s gym shorts. But like clockwork, Mark had to ruin that brief fantasy of you being right about Jeno’s possibly (hopefully) weak stroke game.

“Eh, I’d have to disagree on that one.”

How did he even know that?

“How do you even know that?” You groaned, “I’m distressed enough as it is, Mark, please be serious.”

“I am serious! I literally have the facts to back it up!”

“And what, I’m supposed to believe you?” All you were given was a stare, an arch of an eyebrow just begging to be plucked and shaped, and nothing else. “Fine, what are these facts based on?”

“Testimonies. Plenty of them.”

Your features twisted into that of disgust. “Were you there? In the corner watching him get his dick wet? Like some pervert?”

Mark appeared as though he regretted the decision of coming here. You didn’t want to be here in the first place, so it’s only fair that none of you were having a good time. Might as well make Mark your personal verbal punching bag while you were at it.

“Jesus,” he dragged a hand down his face. The perfect image of exasperation. “The mouth on you sometimes.”

“Sorry,” you quipped, not sorry at all.

This time, Mark let out a groan much similar to yours, obviously not liking where the direction of the already bizarre conversation was heading. This upcoming headache (see: you) was rightfully deserved though since Mark did lend a hand in forcing you into a situation so embarrassing that you’d take instant death over being an unwilling voyeur to Jeno’s many many late night sexcapades.

“Okay, okay, okay—” Mark began as if the rapid-fire speech wasn’t enough to get your attention, or the fact that it was just the two of you hanging out in the kitchen. “You know how my girl hosts girls’ night every two weeks?”

“How could I forget?” you chuckled. “I missed the one two nights ago and your girlfriend’s really good at guilt-tripping.”

“Yeah,” he trailed off with a tender smile. “yeah—uh, she wanted everyone to be there.” Your own smile was knowing, a smidge teasing even and it was enough for Mark’s cheeks to pinken. “Anyways! One of the girls was painting my nails, right?” He wiggled his fingers, showing his mustard yellow painted fingernails with daisy decals, being the girls’ go-to mannequin every girls’ night. “Aeri brought up hooking up with Jeno a few times from like, a year ago, then it became this whole thing of the girls sharing their own experiences—and wow, you girls are just as gross with the details, like, for real—turns out, they all slept with him at some point! Crazy, right?”

“Even your girlfriend?”

Mark smiled, sheepish. Quite the contrast to your horrified expression. “They shared a gen-ed class. College sophomore year. She went to his frat’s party, they hooked up once and never again.”

“Please tell me the girls hated it at least.”

Mark’s jaw closed with a click, lips pressing into a thin line. “Y’know, I don’t think the word ‘hate’ was like, ever thrown around, honestly.”

Good lord—okay, so Jeno was kind of a slut then. A slut that had infiltrated your friend group (and fucked Mark’s girlfriend!) and left them unanimously agreeing that he earned his merit as an absolute god in bed. Go figure. This might as well be some divine force’s way of saying ‘go fuck yourself!’

“So I just have to live with it, is what you’re saying.”

“I mean…” His face twisted into an expression you couldn’t put your finger on and the nonsensical gesticulation didn’t provide any concrete context needed. Either way, you just knew you wouldn’t like whatever he says next. “If it bothers you that much, just find a new place. You’ve been here long enough.”

“In this economy?” you exclaimed. “That’s like asking me to kill myself!”

Not to mention drastic when you had already paid half of this month’s rent along with the other expenses—as did Jeno—and you really couldn’t afford splurging extra to get away from one minor—major inconvenience. Plus, you were pretty attached to the place.

Deciding on that was kind of a tempting solution, however. You had forgotten what it was like living alone after you and Mark thought to rent a place together post-graduation since you both agreed it was cost-effective, but if Jeno was smart enough to repent for his sins of stealing (sleep) from thy neighbor (roommate), you wouldn’t leave him to fend for himself.

“I should have stayed back and talked to Hyuck about this,” you droned, narrowing your eyes when all Mark did was snort at both your joke and your bias for Thing Number Two (Donghyuck). “He would at least agree that Jeno’s dick’s bigger than his brain.”

Which was farthest from the truth, actually.

Painful as it was to admit, the certificate of Jeno graduating from a joint program of Computer Science and Cyber Security as Magna Cum Laude was tangible proof that Jeno Lee’s brain was wired properly to some extent that It made your own certificate of graduating Cum Laude from your nursing program a bit lackluster. It was an inside joke you both shared; where your degrees and graduation portraits weren’t all that useless as they had been perfect for decoration.

All that’s left now was a sour reminder that Jeno got more bitches than you did every time you glanced up at the immortalized version of him. Looming above the flat screen TV with the effortless sweep of his hair and the sweet, canned smile he flashed at the camera.

While you spent hours to at least make it seem like you hadn’t been trampled on from the harrowing events of final exams, back-to-back practicals and soul-sucking internships, Jeno hardly looked like he had put in any effort—like an in-the-making supermodel taking his head-shots. His hair was in its natural shade of black, longer too with a subtle mullet going. Jeno looked younger, untouched by the trials and tribulations adult life granted anyone breaching that point and less like the sex fiend you would hiss at as a knee-jerk reaction.

The Jeno now fitted the latter description to a tee. This rugged look he’s got going on for him screamed trouble. He embodied what sex on legs meant as well as being the guy a god-fearing father would tell you to stay away from.

Having said all that, you still thought that even hot people deserved to be humbled. Ever the one to talk shit about someone that had wronged you behind their back yourself, and Donghyuck was always a great shit-talking partner.

“Nice to know you still don’t listen to me. It’s like I’ve never moved out at all.”

“Maybe if you gave actual sound advice, I would.”

“Advice,” Mark parroted, following that up with a short laugh of disbelief. “you want advice? Okay, here’s one—avoiding Jeno won’t put a stop to this. Maybe all of this—whatever this is—could be resolved if you would just, oh, I don’t know, talk to him? Talk like proper adults would? Lay some ground rules or some shit, I don’t know.”

“I already did that! Many times, if you recall what we just talked about, and look where it got me.”

Temporarily living off of the vomit green couch in exchange for better quality of sleep? Yeah, this was definitely a new low for you.

“Would you bail me out if I was charged for man-slaughter? I’ll pay you back… in a few years.”

“No,” was Mark’s immediate answer. “I’m being serious, babe. Just… talk it out, yeah? Jeno’s worried, texting me and all.”

Huh. Never would you have thought that ‘Jeno’ and ‘worried’ could be mentioned in the same sentence when you sampled just how much Jeno couldn’t give less of a fuck towards the deep lines you had repeatedly drawn, crossing it multiple times, but you supposed there’s always a first time for everything; like how this was a first for you not putting blind faith into Mark’s words.

“I find that hard to believe,” you groused.

Mark’s whole face then twisted into the very expression he’d wear when he’s about to deliver a mean lecture. Unfortunately for you, you had never been an exception to them and you were his best friend! It defeated the whole purpose of the label and the privileges that came with it and as you braced yourself for his god-given right of bitching at you, the sound of the keypad’s beeping made both of you freeze, the fight visible on Mark’s person gone once the automatic lock clicked in place as your faces blenched.

Not one of you dared to move as you listened to Jeno skulking around the foyer with bated breaths.

You could hear a pin drop when your roommate’s shuffling came to an abrupt stop. Then came the sharp gasp, the heavy rushed footsteps and there Jeno was in all his muscled glory; again, in athleisure and panting as if he ran a marathon just to see if his hunch was right.

“Talk to him,” Mark gritted before his face brightened with a capitalistic grin that would usually fool almost everyone and whirled around to greet Jeno with a dialed up amount of enthusiasm. “Hey, buddy! What’s up?”

Jeno was nonplussed by this, his gaze still stuck on you which granted a sinking feeling in your stomach when he didn’t do anything else. No smile, no nothing and Mark didn’t seem to pick up on the growing tension. That, or he simply just chose not to acknowledge it, making nice out of self-preservation.

“You look great!” It was kind of painful watching Mark acting as the buffer, yet unknowingly stall Jeno and the impending doom of talking to him. “Strong! You look strong—” as Mark said this, he gave Jeno’s bicep a friendly slap, only for him to reel it back almost a half second later with wide eyes. “Uh, well! I was just leaving—girlfriend’s looking for me so… bye!”

And there he went, leaving you to fend for yourself, but not before giving you a pointed look over Jeno’s shoulder that clearly said ‘fix this, or else’.

Or else, you huffed, Mark Lee couldn’t even hurt a fly—

“You’re home,” Jeno said, tone soft as ever despite the clear ire that was starting to bubble up to the surface from the way you caught his jaw clench. That didn’t stop your pettiness from taking over, however, making a sour face as you turned away from him to grab your favorite mug out of the cupboard.

“What an amazing observation,” you said with the same amount of excitement a school teacher would have if they were to be condescending. “Would you like a gold star?”

“I was worried,” and Jeno, ever the one to not rise to the bait shamelessly dangling right in front of his face, kept his voice even. “You left my texts on read. You didn’t return any of my calls.”

“Wow! It’s almost like I don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, “‘worried’ my ass. You know damn well I left because of you, so you don’t get to act like I’m in the wrong when—“

Jeno cuts you off with a stern call of your name, like he’s had enough. Of what, exactly? As far as you knew, you were simply telling him the truth of the matter: he drove you away because one stubborn part of Jeno Lee refused to listen and admit that he was in the wrong.

Slowly, you twisted your neck to hit Jeno with the most chilling look known to man-kind as the familiar sensation of anger caused each of your muscles to stiffen. The one thing that kept you from tackling him to the ground was the abashed furrow of Jeno’s eyebrows and his downturned lips. He genuinely looked guilty. As guilty as a man could be from getting as much action as a blunt getting passed around a frat-party, but sadly for him, peace was never an option.

He could cry for forgiveness all he wanted and you’d only think of ways to make him cry even harder.

“Look,” Jeno began, eyes fluttering closed and breathing out a heavy sigh. “I just don’t understand why you had to go this far? Avoiding me for two weeks straight—I was worried,” he reiterated, eyes opening just for them to narrow accusingly. “I didn’t know where you were. Mark refused to tell me since ‘it wasn’t his business’—“ and honestly, if this were any other situation, you would have laughed at Jeno’s piss-poor imitation of Mark and the exaggerated air quotes. “—and I had to find out from Donghyuck, of all people, that you were staying with them!”

This was a first. Jeno was never one to completely lose his cool. Always the milder one between you both who knew how to keep his temper in check. Jeno was calm in every sense of the word, with placid smiles and solemn nods—composed even in the most dire of situations where tensions were high. A stark contrast to how you weren’t afraid of baring your teeth to let people know how you felt, swinging your emotions around as if they were a weapon.

Clearly, the Jeno that stood in front of you bore none of that. He was visibly upset—by what could be considered as ghosting him for two weeks straight, which would have been longer if Jeno had come later in the evening. You were starting to believe that the universe simply hated you to the point of cutting the streak.

You stayed quiet, letting your scowl do all the talking.

Jeno pinched his nose bridge. “I’m sorry I slept with Jimin, alright? It’ll never happen again if that’s what you want.”

“Oh my God,” you exclaimed as you shut the cupboard harsher than intended, moving to head for the coffee machine. He still didn’t get it and you’ll need the extra caffeine in your system for this.

“This is not about you sleeping with Jimin! This is about you crossing lines I specifically told you not to cross! How about you try having someone’s life in your hands? My job isn’t a walk in the park, Jeno. I need to be alert. I need to have my head set on straight, but clearly, I can’t have any of that because I have to hear you fucking the next person who looks at you! If any of my patients die, it’s on you. If I lose my job because I let a patient die, it’s on you—why won’t this fucking thing work!”

Your last straw might as well be the shitty coffee machine proving, once again, how shitty it was. You were half-tempted to unplug the thing and chuck it at his head.

God, you were so fucking angry. The two weeks away from home was the semblance of peace you had desperately needed after almost jeopardizing an angioplasty case with Dr. Jung when you caught yourself handing the wrong type of suture he asked for. It was only luck that you were stuck with one of the more approachable surgeons from cardio, letting you off with a lighthearted ‘wake up’ as Dr. Jung gestured for the right one.

Jeno reached over, pressing down on a button while tilting his head. “Are you done?” He said along the low whir of the coffee machine, evidently trying not to laugh.

The minty waft of his breath hit your face and it was then did you notice how close he had gotten. Your toes almost touching as you blinked up to meet his eyes, confused at how fucking fast he got all up in your space while you ranted.

You scowled harder. “Yeah,” and wow, you knew Jeno was one of the few lucky ones who grew to be tall. Height was one of the obvious physical advantages he had, but when put into perspective, having him like this—almost chest to chest—made a huge difference. You felt so small underneath Jeno’s imposing dead-eyed stare as if he was gauging his prey; a silent dare for you to make one sudden move knowing he’d catch you in the end after playing with you for a little, one way or another. “Yeah, I’m done.”

A small smile tugged on his lips. “Less work for me then.”

“Huh?”

Jeno dipped his head so quickly that it took you a second or two to register his lips pressing against yours.

Jeno Lee. The very same Jeno Lee you imagined exploding in your head too many times to the point you grew bored of the gory image enough to consider telepathically saying I hope you get chlamydia I hope you get chlamydia I hope you get chlamydia until it takes and manifests in real life, was kissing you. This was far from the initial possible outcome you would expect in light of the cold war wedging a gap between you that the backasswards had all higher functions of your brain—and possibly the one that had telepathy locked away forever—shut down when he angled his head to press deeper, as if to coax you into becoming an active participant.

The only options left for you to consider were: a.) kiss him back b.) kiss him back since it became crystal clear that whatever method of psychological warfare Jeno waged wasn’t worth stopping. For reference, option b was the obvious choice. The emphasis, the drama of it all complemented your own flair for dramatics and you would rather drop dead than let Jeno have the upper hand. And maybe because you were insane, choosing anything but resolving the issue with a proper talk, and good lord can the man kiss.

It’s his lips, you thought bitterly, lips of plump and petal-pink goodness melding against your own slightly chapped pair that rendered you uncharacteristically pliant.

Normally, you were anything but, though it was a little rewarding to know that Jeno was losing it just as much; the finesse to his methods gradually chipping away along the push and pull of your mouths with the delicious burden of his weight pressing you against the counter to have more than just a taste. A small window was open for some lucidity to seep in, that being Jeno’s forethought of wriggling a hand in between the edge of the counter top and your back so it wouldn’t jab at your spine as the other cupped your jaw, shuddering when his pinky brushed along a sensitive spot behind your ear.

Jeno smiled at this. You felt him smile at this, but you were still stuck on the oddly sweet gesture that you thought to show some gratitude by returning the same level of eagerness Jeno had, suckling and biting down on his bottom lip. At his whine, you promptly soothed the spot with a languid swipe of your tongue and did it all over again. Not that he minded. You could practically tell just how excited he was; all bricked up and prodding the softness of your belly, and he didn’t seem to be embarrassed by it at all. You didn’t think he would be when he had quite the package.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

There’s a wry grin tugging at his lips when you both parted for some air. “All I could think about was shutting you up every single time you bitch at me.” He regained the closeness just to brush his lips against your cheek, sighing almost in a dreamy-like manner that you were half-tempted to back out. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“Don’t piss me off,” you settled on saying instead as a warning, yet let Jeno—taking it as a cue—lift you up and place you on top of the counter without any struggle that you didn’t even try to hide the fact that the display of Jeno’s raw strength was doing it for you. An infuriatingly attractive feat and you supposed your thought on the matter translated on your face well enough if Jeno’s cheeky grin was anything to go by.

Still, the spread of your legs was no less inviting, something Jeno found funny as he snickered to himself before taking the space in between them for you to wind your arms around his sturdy shoulders and pull him down for another kiss. Mostly to shut him up. Yes, definitely to shut him up.

Jeno parted from you again with an audible smack, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your waist. “Personally—”

You groaned, “oh here we go.”

“Personally,” Jeno tried again, ignoring your yelp when he gave a playful pinch to your skin. “I still think that you’re so pent up that everything annoys you—like me having a healthy sex-life, for example.”

This was it. This was definitely rock-bottom. You were finally in the trenches that you’re entertaining an actual conversation relating to Jeno’s fixation of sticking his dick into willing holes more times than you could count. Oh, and the fact that you were starting to become a little self-conscious from not getting any forms of sex on the regular unlike mister casanova over here.

You hit him with a dubious look. “Where are you even going with this?”

Jeno let out a low hum in lieu of an actual answer and pulled you forward as if he wasn’t already up in your space, the tip of his strong nose gently grazing yours, his lips doing pretty much the same thing too: a gentle brush against your own twitchy pair when he murmured, “don’t you want to let off a little steam? I can help. I want to help.”

And that rightfully stumped you. Not because it was the second time he propositioned you, with the first being more of a joke than anything, but how Jeno actually came off genuine this time around. Not a trace of the smugness could be found either. Just unbridled zeal that being scrutinized by the darkness of Jeno’s gaze birthed a familiar simmering of—horrifyingly enough—want beneath your navel.

There was an argument that could be made here. Where the stubborn part of you could simply claim that it was your curiosity coming into play—wanting to see for yourself if what Mark (and the girls) had said about Jeno was true; that there was a reason why Jeno’s roster was seemingly never ending. You could do that. Though, if anyone were to walk in right now, you didn’t think the compromising position would help in any way when you were quite literally entangled with each other.

Likewise, It didn’t really help that the wretched gremlin burrowing in the debased parts of your brain wanted Jeno Lee so much that you damn near salivated when the man bared more of his neck as a silent ‘go ahead’ for you to ravage the smooth skin with reds, blues and purples with your teeth. You’ve come to terms with the fact that you were attracted to Jeno that it honestly made you stupid enough to have a taste once the chance presented itself, surprisingly, without wishing an aneurysm upon yourself.

But you weren’t going to give in that easily. You could just raise that having first hand experience with whatever Jeno had to offer was all for the sake of research and to prove your point.

That’s all that it was. That’s all that it will be; a case study for you. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jeno squeaked out his confusion when you ended up having his cheeks squished between your fingers and thumb right when he tried going in for another kiss, causing his lips to pucker out even more.

“What makes you think I’ll let you fuck me?”

You dug your fingers into his skin harder as a warning when he tested his luck again.

It’s almost comical watching Jeno stiffen in your hold, making a show of gathering enough distance for him to look right into your eyes.

Then Jeno smiled something placid, yet the glimmer in his eyes told you otherwise. You felt so seen that you wanted to curl into yourself so he wouldn’t have to pick you apart with his steely gaze alone. In that moment, you were prey at the mercy of an apex predator just waiting to strike.

“Is that a challenge?” Jeno asked, even-tempered, irritatingly enough.

“And what if it is?” your fingers tangled themselves in the smooth dark blue strands and tugged gently. “Scared that you’ll lose?”

Jeno’s smile widened.

If there was one thing to take away from all of this, it was to never test the limits of a Taurus man’s patience.

Or else you’d end up in a position where your strength—or lack thereof—would be tested; or else you’d end up restless in between Jeno’s spread legs, one of his arms slung down the length of your torso as a seat belt and anchoring you down to his chest while three of his nimble fingers pistoned in and out of your sopping cunt. It was a fight with an obvious outcome of you losing by a landslide with his death grip around you, but you couldn’t help but squirm when he was so good at making you feel delirious just from his fingers making a mess of where you ached the most.

Fingers that were longer and thicker, reaching deeper than yours ever could. With Jeno, it took him no time at all to have you crying out from his digits nudging that sensitive spot within your silken walls, and the same fingers decidedly pulled out without any warning with an impossibly wet sound just for Jeno to switch his attention towards your clit, fingers flicking sideways in quick succession. This urged an immediate reaction, you letting out a shuddering cry as one of your hands shot out to lock tightly around his wrist.

Your head spun at Jeno’s gentle hushing as you twitched in his embrace. Tender words easily slipping past his full lips in conjunction with his almost rough treatment had your body wounding tighter and tighter as the divide between pleasure and pain gradually flattened to gossamer thin with each pass of Jeno’s fingers across your clit.

He played you like a fiddle, like he knew exactly what to do in drawing out a pleasure filled song from within you until the barrier ripped, sobbing wetly into the air as you and your resolve shattered into pieces with Jeno’s constricting hold around your quivering form kept you from breaking completely.

When you came to, Jeno’s voice was the first thing you latched onto, bringing you back to full lucidity; gentle as he talked you through what was probably the most intense, toe-curling orgasm from being finger-banged on the couch, of all places.

Jeno breathed out a mixed noise of surprise and amazement. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

And it was when you felt the familiar warm and wet trickle from your pussy down to your ass did you finally let the humiliation set it: you’ve let Jeno finger you on the couch, soaking his shorts and the couch as evidence.

You wanted to die.

“Yeah, well, It’s not like I tell everybody I can,” you panted, hissing when Jeno’s hand curiously trailed down to assess the mess, middle and ring finger slipping between your vulva then dipping shallowly into you and rewarding himself with a whine. Uncomfortable as it was to move your neck at this angle, you wouldn’t miss the chance to glare at him. “like—‘hi! I’m this and that, and I can squirt!—do you know how deranged that sounds?”

“I dunno, I know I‘d be impressed. Intrigued. Maybe even ask for a demo—”

“Jeno.”

“Kidding! I’m kidding,” Jeno snickered as he retracted his fingers, only to stick them into his mouth with a pleased hum, like it was the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his life. “What?” He asked, muffled from suckling on his fingers still, when he caught you gawking at him, completely mortified by the shameless sweep of his tongue around his digits.

You wanted to cry. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Oh princess, this is nothing,” Jeno finally freed is mouth of the visual torture, a broad grin stretching spit-slick lips when he, again, took in your visceral reaction towards being called princess. He’s so annoying. You verbalized the thought and the fucker just laughed. “Call me a freak again when I ask you to soak my face,” he said, voice sweet, wincing slightly when he held your cheeks, with damp fingers and all. Freak. “Or would you like it better if I beg instead? I’m flexible. I’ll do anything you want.”

Never mind, that was much much worse. Holy fuck. The visual in your head did nothing but spur you on even further no matter the aftermath of a thigh shaking release taking its effects now.

“Stop talking,” you groaned. “please, just shut up.”

“Okay.” Jeno giggled. Giggled, like he wasn’t an insane person delighting himself to your bodily fluids just a few seconds ago. Then to add insult to injury, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “Think you can go another round?”

So he made you cum once—squirt, for that matter, but that’s, like, whatever when you were capable of doing that on your own. You had plenty of time figuring out what you liked best in this realm of preferences and for all you knew, Mark was simply fucking with you—just like the other girls probably were—as some sick elaborate joke, and Jeno was simply overcompensating for the sake of his ego with their help.

“Just… give me a few. I’m starting to go deaf.” Well, not really. It felt more like there was cotton stuffed into your ears, your own voice sounding muffled and faraway. Although you weren’t new to the feeling, it wasn’t common either and it was especially new that another person was able to render you into this sluggish version of yourself.

He sucked in a breath. “Was it that good that you’ve gone temporarily deaf?”

Other than that, then came the numbing of your scalp. You’ve read about this once, a product from genuine curiosity after a little moment of freaking the fuck out, thinking you were about to die from cumming too hard to the point of losing circulation up there in your brain. And—no you weren’t dying, though it would be an interesting way to go.

You followed up with this just as the blunt edges of his fingernails lightly scratched at your scalp. “I literally can’t feel that except a slight pressure—and don’t get too cocky. This happens to me when I get myself off too.”

Jeno didn’t get even a second of gloating before you started rambling about the possibilities of why this happens with a basic rundown of the nervous system (rapid increase in heart rate and blood pressure) and completely disregarding the stiff outline of Jeno’s pride pressing snugly into the cleft of your bare ass cheeks.

He felt just as hard as he was when you sucked faces in the kitchen. Warm. Big, that you had no idea if the shakes you were getting now was out of fear for Jeno’s cock potentially rearranging your guts to the point of no return, or out of anticipation from that possibly happening. Though what was more shocking was Jeno maintaining some sort of chivalrous streak, staying where he was and putting your pleasure first before his own when he could pretty much turn the tides and have his way with you.

But like a dog being told to stay for a promised treat, Jeno doesn’t do anything, besides soothing you with absentminded caresses here and there while he listened.

At least that’s how you thought this slip in judgment was going to end right until Jeno picked you up in one fell swoop, abruptly—and rudely—cutting you off from the build up towards a detailed spiel of a hypothesis to instead let out an undignified yelp of surprise. He hauled you up without any visible struggle and it was doing horrible horrible things to your psyche.

“Seriously, Jeno,” you exclaimed, grunting when he wrangled you onto your knees, your chest pressed down onto the coffee table as if you were nothing but a doll he gets to twist and bend for his own entertainment. “Were you even listening?”

“Uh huh—something about the temporary effects of an orgasm to the nervous system,” he trailed off at the same time his fingers grazed your skin while rucking up your pullover, just high enough that you shivered against the cool glass surface. “I’ll be honest with you, Human Biology wasn’t exactly interesting to me, but the little science session was cute.”

The glass was doing wonders in cooling down your cheek.

This was the second time he has called you cute. So casually too that you started to think that maybe Jeno had a thing for embarrassing you, see you squirm, whine, make a fool out of yourself—overall, make your life more difficult than it already was.

“Dick,” you quipped, all too weak to actually mean it and Jeno seemed to get the memo, offering a short laugh. “do I have to fit a certain criteria to do this in your bedroom?” you followed, mustering up some strength to glare at him over your shoulder, only to falter when you found Jeno was rather preoccupied with something else.

It’s no secret that Jeno was simply born with a resting face so sweet and unassuming that there was this perceived notion of him not having a mean bone inside that clean-cut body of his. That Jeno wasn’t capable of dishing out noteworthy comebacks aimed at the ego.

Sure, he could be unaware at times (as per his loud sex problem), but you couldn’t deny the simple truth that Jeno could be nice—is nice. So nice. Sweet even, that the expression crossing his face was just as honeyed and becoming more so the longer he stayed kneeling there, raking his eyes over your half-naked form bent to compliance. It wasn’t the blatant leering that got to you though, but more of how Jeno looked doing it. Who knew the mole smack dab in the middle of your back could be adored this much?

There’s a faint smile tugging on his lips. Miniscule, barely there—still a smile, nonetheless, as he traced the length of your back with his eyes, his large hands essentially doing the same: mapping the entirety of your torso for his own indulgence until he got his fill; warm palms gluing to the soft dips of your waist, all the while his face twisted where it gave the impression he was seeing what was front of him for the very first time.

You looked away, face hotter than it was before.

Whatever that was seemed too private of a moment to witness. It felt intimate—the way his eyes drank in your body—too intimate for a ‘one and done’ thing that you seriously couldn’t wait to get fucked and put an end to this hands-on case study of Jeno’s whore-ish tendencies.

“So no bedroom, then,” you said, hoping it would snap Jeno out of it.

“Sorry, princess.” And, to be fair, Jeno did sound apologetic for a man that was about to get his dick wet for the umpteenth time. You gave him points for trying, then docked off some because princess. Really? “I don’t think I can make the trip to my bedroom. Need to fuck you now or else my dick will fall off.”

You closed your eyes, dropping your chin forward far enough that your forehead met the glass surface with a dull thunk.

So much for thinking he was sweet during a moment. It’s like the more he opened his mouth, the more he inched away from the polite friend-of-a-friend gym-bro who probably helped grandmas cross the street.

“Ugh—fuck you.”

“Mm, yeah.” You stopped counting the last time you had fallen into bed with someone else, and you were starting to think that it has probably been a while; if the brush of spandex against your skin from Jeno fumbling behind to drag his shorts just low enough for his cock to spring free has you completely losing it. Jesus, this was embarrassing. “You’re about to.”

You scoffed, “corny.”

Jeno didn’t deign the cattiness with an answer and instead let his growing impatience speak for itself, kneeing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer until your sharp intake of breath pierced through the once still air when the sticky head of his cock prodded at your hole.

“Any time now.”

Trying to sound unaffected was truly a Sisyphean task. You couldn’t help it, really. Being snarky came natural to you, though if Jeno could tell you were just talking your shit to cover up your impatience, he did nothing about it and went about with teasing you, dragging his length back and forth against your slit.

“I’m literally becoming dryer the longer you keep this up.”

That got a reaction out of him this time, letting out an incredulous laugh, “there’s no way of shutting you up, is there?”

“I don’t know, you can try hard—” whatever else that was supposed to follow immediately died at the tip of your tongue, gasping at the sudden intrusion.

“Oh! Well that’s one way.”

Another version of Jeno in your head just died of spontaneous combustion. You could literally hear him smile. Smiley bastard.

It was intense for sure. As intense as it could be after a stupidly long dry spell that you genuinely felt as though you were reborn a fucking virgin and made the mistake of picking the very guy with a third leg for a dick to pop your cherry. If the head of his cock breaching your pussy had you this frenzied, who knew what the actual thing could do to your actively deteriorating sanity? And—well, you were about to find out, weren’t you?

The reality of it all hit you like a freight train, the groan Jeno breathed out sounded so loud even over the mechanical drone of the air conditioner when he pushed deeper into you.

“Jen—oh my God—wait—” You reached behind to grab onto Jeno’s ass cheek at breakneck speed. A grave mistake, really, because in what you would hope could have stopped Jeno from basically splitting you into two, you unintentionally helped him plug you up. Your nails dug into his flesh as a result.

“Careful with the claws,” he hissed. “They actually hurt.”

“Yeah?” He yelped when you squeezed his ass tighter, his own hand holding onto yours to stop you from doing actual damage. “Try getting impaled by a dick, dickhead.”

Jeno went rigid. “You’ve had sex before, right?”

“Yes?” You looked at him like he was stupid over your shoulder and—all gods above. He already looked fucked out. Cheeks pink, skin shining with sweat (when did he take his shirt off?) and eyes darker from how blown out his pupils were—you know, maybe you weren’t too far off from the thought. “But unlike you, I don’t fuck the next thing that breathes my way.”

“Wow,” Jeno huffed. “Clearly I’m doing something wrong if you’re still running your mouth.”

You had a long history of letting your mouth run before your brain could even decipher if what you had to say would be ideal for the situation. To get out of it, though, was a completely different story and with how things are unfolding, yeah, maybe you bit off more than you could chew.

“No, no—shh, it’s okay. You're okay,” Jeno soothed just as you squirmed, trying to relax. “You're doing so good for me. Just breathe, yeah? Jus’ a little more—oh, fuck.” The guttural groan coincided with the squeak you let out once Jeno shoved himself balls deep into you with a faint slap of skin, clenching around him.

Out of all the men you’ve been with in the past, it took you the longest to adjust around Jeno’s girth. Not only because you simply did not have the time to fuck around, but he really was huge in the sense that he was somehow hitting places that you didn’t even know were there. He truly was the biggest you’ve taken in a while and it was a relief that you had the day off tomorrow and the day after; plenty of time to recover. The thought of having to explain getting railed over your coffee table to the point you were walking funny was mortifying enough as it is.

“This is so much better than hearing you bitch and moan, seriously. Sometimes I start thinking you just want me to hate you.” Jeno didn’t look like he was capable of hating anything if he tried, though with the way his hips drilled mercilessly into you, maybe a tiny part of him could. If pushed right. “And you complain so damn much about the noise when you’re no better. Can you hear how fuckin’ loud you are now?”

You didn’t even realize Jeno was still holding onto the hand that seemed to permanently glue itself onto his barely-there ass cheek until he took your joined hands—fingers laced and all—to migrate beside your head. Right in front of your face and, somehow, it felt like an insult.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Jeno Lee,” you moaned and squeezed his hand at a particularly hard thrust jostling you forward. “Fuck you and your useless big dick.”

Jeno snickered. You still called him big, so he’ll take that as a win. “My dick is one of those things and it’s not useless.”

Jeno didn’t really mind how loud you actually were. In fact, he liked it. A lot. Liked hearing how good he was making you feel with each drag of his cock within your warm and slick insides. Liked knowing that he was the reason why you were so lost in your own song of pleasure as you fucked back onto him with all you’ve got when he stopped all his movements to see what you would do and goodness, were you a sight for sore eyes. And Jeno was glad to witness all of this.

You were truly a fantasy come to life. Something he’d never would expect to touch, to mold and to feel in his own hands.

Watching you take what you wanted with no complaints was not an expected outcome—hell, having sex with you wasn’t what Jeno was hoping to get from tonight at all. Talking would have been just fine, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Of course not. Not when you were putting up a show, fueled by your own greed for pleasure, for him and him alone and he could tell all that pent-up stress was starting to seep out the more the back of your thighs met his.

Jeno was a patient man for sure. He was known for it at work. When it came to his diligent daily visits to the gym just two blocks away. When it came to living life in general; yet somehow, you were part of the minute collective that was able to test that until there was nothing left of it and as much as Jeno loved seeing you like this; desperate enough for cock that doing all the work was no problem, he quickly grew bored being a spectator.

There was also you threatening the safety of his skull if he didn’t get a move on to fuck you harder. Jeno only let out an amused snort at this, thinking it was cute and leaned forward so you were chest to back.

“I hoped for a second you’d be begging,” he mumbled into your nape. “you’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Fuck me, or I’ll make sure you’ll never get to fuck anyone else ever again.”

Well.

You did make a compelling argument, and just like how this all went, Jeno followed and delivered.

It was made very clear to you that his muscles weren’t just for show because unlike you, he possessed an insane amount of core strength that it barely dented his stamina when he lifted you up a couple of inches above the coffee table. Your joined hands came in clutch for balance while his free hand acted like a necklace loosely wrapped around your throat so Jeno could kiss you as his hips regained momentum.

Kissing gradually became less of a thing and more of just you both breathing into each other’s mouths, completely taken over by the sheer pleasure of it all. Normally, you’d avoid his eyes if you could, but you were so far gone that you didn’t mind staring into the endless pits of Jeno’s hooded stare. His thrusts slowed down, yet they were more deliberate than ever that it took all of your leftover energy to not say anything stupid like how this change in angle and pace had Jeno plunging in so deep that you could almost feel him in your throat.

“‘m close,” he rasped, hand on your neck tightening a smidge as his movements steadily increased in speed. “How about another one from you, huh? On my cock this time?”

You could only sound a shaky hum and that was enough of an answer for him.

Heated and damp skin met the glass surface once more and Jeno’s cock snugly fit inside of you again with little to no resistance. It was almost the same as how you started out. The only difference was your navel pressing firmly against the table by your still joined hands pushing down onto your back.

Time wasn’t wasted at all and that change alone fully intensified the sensation of Jeno’s girth drilling into you like he was trying so hard to carve a space that he could only fill, even more so when you wriggled and squared your hips to take him in better. It made so much of a difference that your eyes rolled back into your skull as mindless pleasured noises spilled past your lips, your grip around his fingers growing tighter that it hurt your own.

The second wave of your orgasm encroached at a dangerously fast pace from the oversensitivity earlier and the consistency of Jeno’s perfectly timed jackhammering thrusts hitting the tender spot within you, forcing out tinny ah ah ahs out of you as you clenched around him from how mind-numbingly amazing this was, being underneath Jeno’s weight.

It’s been too fucking long that the delirious part of your brain, completely compromised by the rush of dopamine and oxytocin from cumming for the second time entertained the idea of keeping Jeno buried in you long enough until your insides molded around each ridge and vein of Jeno’s cock for the perfect fit. You’ve never felt this full in your life. Even the frantic pistoning of Jeno’s hips aided by the wet gush of slick didn’t shatter the illusion. The feeling of cotton stuffed into your ears came back tenfold.

“Close,” Jeno rasped. “Where—where?”

“Pull out,” you said, all too winded to add that you were on the pill, but you didn’t want to take your chances. Apparently the tension was that bad that none of you had the forethought of using a condom. Your minds were so clouded that critical thinking was impossible, but what’s done was done.

Jeno pulled out with a slick sound, followed by a shaky moan that grew louder and louder with each stroke of his cock, leaving you to whine from the loss (wow, you were so out of it). Warm cum splattered onto the sweat-damp skin of your back and for once, you didn’t have the heart or energy to complain about the sticky mess

Click.

Your eyes shot open. “Did you just take a photo of me?”

“Yeah,” Jeno said. “You look good like this. Pretty. Wanted to have something to jerk off too.”

He could have just stopped at pretty. “You’re gross. You aren’t going to show that to anybody else, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t like sharing and I actually value my life.”

You could only groan in response, sagging more against the now moist surface of the glass as if you were trying to merge yourself with it, feeling the after effects of Jeno trying to fuck the life out of you.

“I think I’m going to die.”

Jeno responded in kind with a sweet laugh, letting go of your hand. It didn’t even register that you still had your fingers intertwined up until he let go, and tempted as you were to lift yourself up and see what kind of face he was making now that he left his mark on you, you were genuinely too exhausted to do that.

“That good, huh?” His hands returned to your hips, squeezing them gently. “I told you so.”

With the last bit of your strength, you kicked at his thigh.

“Okay, let’s get you up.” He swiped his discarded shirt up from the floor to wipe away the cum before lifting you up by the armpits so you’re on your knees, settling your weight onto your calves as he watched your pullover delicately fall into place and cover up most of your skin. Your own name on his tongue sounded so far away to you. “—hey. You still with me?”

There’s a hum as a response and that’s it. Not only did he end up fucking all the stress and tension out of you, there goes half of your life, too. Gravity took over and you fell right into his chest with your head cushioned by his bare shoulder, eyes glazed over.

“How does a bath sound?”

You nodded, letting your eyes slip closed as Jeno adjusted your slumped form to carry you.

Jeno almost jumped out of his skin when your phone rang.

“Hello?” Jeno said quietly after scrambling for it on your side of his bed, looking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t woken you up. He didn’t think you had granted him the perk to simply barge into your room just yet, so he had you clothed in one of his sleep shirts and a pair of new boxer shorts as you dozed away.

“Jeno? Why do you have her phone? Did you kill her before she killed you?”

“No.” That made him worry. How often did you tell anyone who’d happily lend an ear that you’d murder him in cold blood? Whatever, hopefully after tonight, things will smoothen out. “She’s asleep right now. She won’t be heading back over there tonight.” Or ever, he thought.

“Oh?” Jaemin sounded excited for a second, then turned suspicious. “Why? Did she forgive you yet?”

Jeno let the question marinate for a moment, weighing the benefits of letting one of the nosiest people he knew in on his business. A loud snort followed by some mumbling startled him and Jeno craned his neck to find you now facing his side of the bed, still asleep with your mouth parted in a darling little ‘o’. There’s drool at the corner of your mouth. You’ve never looked cuter.

“Define… forgive.”

For once, Jaemin, surprisingly, was rather quick on the uptake “Oho? You two fucked it out, didn’t you?” When Jeno didn’t answer right away, Jaemin gasped. “Jeno, you dog!”

His cackling caused Jeno’s cheeks to flush an impossible red. “Don’t make it weird!”

“You made it weird the second you decide to sleep with her. Besides, we’re all adults here! I promise I won’t tell my third unofficial roommate“—Jeno wished he could reach through the phone right now and choke the life out of him—“that you told me. Tell me everything. Down to the nastiest detail—Hyuck! Oh my God, you’re home just in time. Guess what—“

“I’m coming by and getting the rest of her stuff in a bit.” The whining fell deaf onto Jeno’s ears. “Goodbye, Jaemin.”

He hung up, gently sliding your phone underneath the pillow you’re using. Actually, maybe you'd let him in your good graces if he went to fetch your charger.

Just when he thought peace and quiet had finally been attained, his own phone started buzzing from an onslaught of messages.

Hyuck: U GUYS FUCKED????? Hyuck: WITHOUT ME??? Hyuck: NO FAIR 😭😭😭😭

Jaemin: OR ME??? Jaemin: spare coochie plz 🥺🤲🏼

Hyuck: was there a tape at least 😔

Jaemin: 👀

Jeno: I hope she kills you both when I show her these.

Jeno set his phone to ‘Do Not Disturb’ and tossed it carelessly onto his nightstand.

This was not your room.

With each toss and turn, it still smelt like man, which wasn’t completely awful. It’s a rather pleasant scent; fresh, not too overwhelming on the citrus notes and something woodsy and floral binding everything together. A little too summery when it was currently in the middle of autumn, but you supposed you were in no position to judge when you’ve been using the same perfume since high school.

All in all, it was still nice. If not a little off-putting, not waking up entangled in your linen sheets which was starkly different from how your usual mornings went, yet the exhaustion was what kept you from making a huge fuss. At least Jeno's room didn't harbor the aesthetics of anything from the r/malelivingspace subreddit. Jeno's room was rather nice. Clean. Neat. Evident that a man lived here.

Apart from the abrupt change, there was also the bone-deep soreness serving as a heavy reminder of the aftermath of your decision to sleep with the very same person who took it from you.

And how ironic that he was also the reason why you slept so well last night too.

What a way to end your so-called case study with you as the punchline, really and—fine, maybe Jeno did have the room to boast his admittedly exceptional stroke game. Maybe Jeno knew how to make people cum and it was a fluke that he made you, too. Twice. Maybe Jeno earned his merit of being an expert in the field of sex then.

Your lips wobbled, frowning at Jeno’s ceiling.

This was literally the worst discovery of your life. Being a test subject yourself to see if Jeno’s reputation had preceded him didn’t make it any less horrifying. How could you return to normalcy after this?

You buried your face into one of Jeno’s many pillows and screamed.

Luckily, he hadn’t caught wind of your morning breakdown.

After freshening up in the bathroom, you quietly made your way towards the spacious kitchen, assuming it’s where Jeno was, albeit slowly as each step you took made the ache in between your thighs more pronounced. He had his back to you, bare of anything besides the tight boxer briefs and the frilly pink apron shielding his torso from the splattering oil cinched around his waist.

Jeno Lee painted the very picture of temptation in this current moment. Jacked all to hell, complementing his god-like proportions that showed off his slutty waist women alike would die to have and a striking face that could start wars. But out of everything, your gaze lingered on his barely-there ass wondering if your nails did leave any stinging marks that Jeno would feel for days.

“Oh, hey. You’re up—were you staring at my ass?”

From his behind, you immediately stuck your eyes onto something else less suspicious—like the geometric light fixture just above his head you once hoped would knock him out one day.

“No I wasn’t,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Can’t stare at anything that isn’t even there.”

“Hey!” Jeno whined. “I do have an ass!”

“And I have a dick,” you shot right back and made your way towards where the shitty coffee machine was. Just a few paces away from where Jeno stood. “See how easy it is to lie?”

He sighed. “How come you have an answer for everything?”

You cracked your first smile of the morning. Smug, if anything, but a smile nonetheless. “You just make it so easy.”

“Damn, so even the sex wasn’t enough,” Jeno muttered as he flipped a pancake with an effortless flick of the wrist. “How many rounds will it take for you to forgive me?”

“Zero.” If looks could kill, Jeno would have burst into flames by now. “Is sex all you think about?”

“I can think of other things…” he trailed off, giving you a quick glance with a sweet moue on his lips. “most of my thoughts are of you, so…” Jeno turned to you fully, his eyes gaining a hopeful shine.

That shocked a short laugh out of you in spite of yourself, shaking your head as you marched for the cupboard. “Nice try, big guy—and the sex?” You shot him a quick glance over your shoulder. “You can forget about it.”

“Okay.”

You looked at him again. Jeno was now frying eggs with his face devoid of everything but concentration.

“I still hate you,” you added, loudly.

The sunny side-up eggs slipped cleanly onto a large plate. “Mhm.”

“It was a one time thing.” Somehow his lack of a reaction was slowly getting to you. “It’s not happening again. Ever. I’m not having sex with you again. Ever.”

“Yeah, I got you the first time.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.” You harrumped, making a quick grab for your favorite mug before coming face-to-face with your stupid ass coffee machine.

This was not your stupid ass coffee machine.

What sat in place of the old piece of junk Granny had given you as a housewarming gift (after expressing her concern for your possible caffeine addiction) was a newer model you were pretty sure most, if not all, lifestyle influencers had displayed in their meticulously curated coffee corner. This was built mostly for convenience and to fit into the current trend of aesthetics, no wonder you couldn’t get it to work last night. Muscle memory had you pressing the wrong button.

Slowly, you pried your trembling eyes from the brand-spanking-new replacement to watch your roommate in his element, completely unaware of you currently going through the greatest shock of your life, and back.

You looked closer. There was a Post-It stuck onto the side.

I’m sorry (.◜ᯅ◝) — your asshole roommate.

Jeno bought you a new coffee machine.

“Hey Jen?” you called softly after a full minute of inner deliberation.

Jeno hummed his acknowledgement. He even fried the bacon just how you liked it. There’s no way you couldn’t forgive him now. You were mean, sure, but you weren’t evil. Why did he have to be so nice?

“Can you show me how the coffee machine works?” Then, just as quietly, you added: “please?”

He turned to look at you with the most brilliant smile as he killed the fire.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Mark (ER): so did you two talk yet Mark (ER): ..hellooooo Mark (ER): did you kill him 😟

You: no? tf

Mark (ER): so u guys r good now or

You: 👍🏼👍🏼

Mark (ER): omg TWO thumbs ups 😀 Mark (ER): are u bffs now ??? Mark (ER): i was here first btw

You: go bother ur gf omg??????

a/n: *taps mic* ...hello is this thing on? First things first, thank you so much for reading until the end! Originally, this was supposed to come out as a full one-shot, but life has been all sorts of crazy that I simply haven't had enough time to work on this fic as much as I would have liked to. And upon realized it has been so fucking long since I've posted the teaser, I decided to just split it into two parts to get something out, so I truly apologize for the very long wait! I do hope you enjoyed the read and please please let me know your thoughts on it <3

bonus of me going thru it in our chat lovingly named 'en-ct':

#lee jeno x reader #lee jeno one shot #lee jeno smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream one shot #nct dream smut #nics: fics

2K notes · View notes

douceurrrr · 1 month ago

Text

photobooth sex w/ nic

cw: steamy makeout, straddling, thigh gripping, suggestive dialogue, sexual tension, teasing, public risk, nic being a smooth flirt, reader is blk, fem-presenting, minor possessiveness, light dry humping, some mild

the villa had been buzzing all day — tension from challenges, whispers from recouplings, and that weird kind of silence that hangs when everybody’s watching everybody else a little too closely.

you’d been trying to lay low.

trying to ignore the way nic had been acting since the challenge earlier — the one where someone made a slick little comment about your ass, and he laughed a little too loud before pulling you into a headlock and whispering something like, “they can look, but you know who’s tappin’ that tonight, right?”

now, he was lounging near the fire pit, eyes flicking up every time you moved past.

and you? you were trying not to give him the satisfaction. wearing your little ruched dress and the gloss that always drove him mad. you hadn’t touched him since the challenge, on purpose. let him sit in it.

so when he finally stood up and strolled over — one hand brushing the small of your back like it wasn’t about to start a war — you looked at him without flinching.

“come with me,” he said, voice low.

“say please,” you teased, sipping your water.

he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “baby, don’t make me beg in front of these people. you already know what i want.”

and you already knew where he was headed — that damn photobooth tucked in the corner of the villa like a little secret. no mics. no cameras. just you, him, and whatever mess you were about to make.

you followed him, pretending not to notice the subtle smirk on his face as he opened the curtain for you.

the second it fell closed behind you, the vibe shifted.

“sit,” he said, nodding toward the little bench.

you gave him a look. “you always this bossy?”

“only when i’m about to kiss you like i mean it.”

that shut you up. you slid into the booth, heart already racing. he followed, knees spreading slightly as he sat close — real close. your bare thighs touched. his cologne wrapped around you like a promise.

nic looked at you, eyes dragging down to your lips. “you mad at me?”

“no.”

“good.”

you tilted your head. “but i might be later.”

“then i better get my kisses in now.”

and he leaned in — slow, intentional — lips brushing yours once, twice, before fully pressing into you. his hand came up to cradle your jaw, the other sliding behind your back to pull you into him.

the kiss was hot. open-mouthed. all tongue and teasing and not nearly enough air. you moaned before you could stop yourself, hands sliding up his chest to clutch at his shirt.

“fuck,” he mumbled against your lips. “you kiss me like that again, and we’re not leavin’ this booth for a minute.”

you kissed him harder.

the photobooth started snapping pictures without warning — flashes lighting up in random bursts while nic’s hands slid down to grip your thighs. you swung one leg over his lap, straddling him now, dress riding up so high it barely counted as clothes.

he groaned when your hips settled on his. “you tryin’ to kill me?”

“just remindin’ you who this ass belongs to.”

he laughed, low and dirty, pulling you flush against him. “you really tryna start somethin’ in here?”

“who said i was starting it?” you whispered, rolling your hips once.

nic’s eyes fluttered shut. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, thumbs brushing the crease where your legs met your hips. “damn, baby.”

his mouth was back on yours, hungrier this time. teeth tugging your bottom lip, tongue sliding over yours like he was claiming it. like he didn’t care who’d just seen what in that challenge or who might be talking — this was his.

your fingers threaded into his curls, tugging gently, and he groaned into your mouth. the sound vibrated against your lips, sent a pulse between your thighs.

“you feel that?” he whispered, grinding up into you slowly.

you gasped — he was already hard, pressed thick and perfect against the thin fabric of your panties.

“nic…”

“nah, keep doin’ that,” he breathed. “grind on it. real slow.”

you obeyed, hips rolling gently against him while his hands roamed your body like he was memorizing every dip and curve. your dress had fully bunched up now, his hands gripping bare skin.

“we can’t fuck in here,” you said, breathless.

“i know,” he said, eyes dark. “but you can cum on me.”

you nearly choked on your breath.

he kissed the side of your jaw, down to your neck. “you gonna be good for me and make a mess on my lap? right here, while they all out there think we takin’ cute lil pictures?”

the flash went off again. both your faces were red now — not from the lights, but the heat building between you.

you rutted against him, his mouth finding your ear. “you always this wet for me?”

you moaned softly, lips trembling.

he grinned against your neck. “you are now.”

the tension built and built — flashes flickering, hands exploring, mouths hungry. your thighs squeezed around his waist, and his grip on you tightened.

he was saying things now — quiet, filthy things that only you could hear in this box. things about how you tasted, how your moans sounded in his ear, how he wanted you bent over the firepit next time when no one was looking.

“you close?” he asked, biting your earlobe.

you nodded, shaky.

“then cum, baby. right here. all over me. let ‘em take that picture.”

and you did — quietly, breath held in your chest, thighs trembling, hands gripping his shoulders as your body rocked through it.

he held you tight, kissed you softer now. slower.

“good girl,” he murmured. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

you smiled against his mouth. “you’re not too bad yourself.”

“gonna have to delete these pictures before production sees ‘em.”

you both laughed, still tangled, still breathless.

⸻

aftercare scene

back in the villa, no one asked where you two disappeared to. but nic kept his hand on your lower back all night, whispering things in your ear that made your face burn and your thighs clench.

and when bedtime came, he made sure to tuck you in first — a kiss on the forehead, then one on your lips.

“g’night, baby.”

“night,” you whispered, smiling.

he smirked. “same time tomorrow?”

you smacked his chest, laughing.

⸻

#black!reader #woc #nic love island #nicolas x black!reader #love island fics #love island usa #love island x reader

668 notes · View notes

fakeuwus · 8 months ago

Text

NUMBER ONE GIRL | LEE HEESEUNG SMAU

PAIRING: singer!heeseung x singer!yn (femreader)

SYNOPSIS: in which your breakup album forces heeseung to face what he did to you.

GENRE: exes au, angst

MESSAGE FROM NIC: inspired by ms rosie posie's amazing album. not sure where this is gonna go this is purely going off of vibes, hope yall enjoy!!

#nic's library ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#fakeuwus #fic: number one girl #heeseung smau #lee heeseung #heeseung social media au #enhypen #enhypen smau #enhypen social media au #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #park jongseong #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #kim chaewon #huh yunjin #lee heeseung smau #lee heeseung social media au

2K notes · View notes

nic-writes-sometimes · 8 days ago

Text

Accidental Adoption

Ao3 Link

Fandom: Kpop Demon Hunters

Word Count: 3,487

Chapter One: Introductions

a/n: A series of semi-interconnected one shots of Rumi, Mira, and Zoey raising a couple of demon kids. Send in prompts for scenes you'd like to see and I'll try to incorporate them.

---

[excerpt from ch.1]

“Leave us alone! We didn't do anything!”

“We’re not here to fight”, Rumi said gently, hands raised in peace. “We just saw you and—”

“You’re hunters”, the girl interrupted, her voice breaking. “You kill demons. You’ll kill us too.”

(divider by @sisterlucifergraphics)

The Honmoon glittered around them as they stepped out the back entrance of the concert venue, sweat still clinging to their skin from the high-energy performance. The cheers of the crowd echoed faintly behind the closed doors, replaced now by the hum of passing traffic and the quiet buzz of cooling amps. Makeup smudged and adrenaline fading, Rumi, Zoey, and Mira traded tired smiles as they made their way through the alley toward their van. Bobby offered to drive them, but the trio insisted that their manager leave for his vacation early and that they could drive themselves.

“Crowd was wild tonight”, Zoey said, tugging her jacket tighter around her. “I think someone in the front row was crying during your solo, Mira.”

Mira laughed, a little breathless. “Crying or fainting. Hard to tell under the lights.”

“I vote both��, Rumi added with a smirk, but her steps slowed as her gaze drifted toward the far end of the alley. “Hold up…”

Near the overflowing dumpster, two small figures crouched low in the shadows, rummaging through trash bags with cautious, desperate movements. A girl—maybe six years old, her frame gaunt beneath an oversized hoodie—was gently digging through scraps while shielding a much younger boy clinging to her side. He looked no older than two, silent and wide-eyed, a faint glow catching the ridges of tiny horns curling from beneath his tangled hair.

Zoey’s expression shifted instantly. “Kids?”

“No”, Mira said under her breath. “Not human ones.”

At the sound of footsteps, the girl froze, head snapping up. Her eyes: striking, luminous, and not of this world, locked onto theirs. In a heartbeat she pulled the boy behind her, small arms spreading protectively. Her voice shook as she spoke.

“Leave us alone! We didn't do anything!”

“We’re not here to fight”, Rumi said gently, hands raised in peace. “We just saw you and—”

“You’re hunters”, the girl interrupted, her voice breaking. “You kill demons. You’ll kill us too.”

The boy whimpered, clinging tighter to her leg.

Zoey stepped forward slowly, crouching to their level. “That’s not what we do. Not to kids. Not to anyone who’s not hurting people.”

“We’re just hungry…” the girl fratically explained, “I was only looking for food. We haven't taken any souls.”

Mira stepped closer, her voice low and soothing. “What’s your name hun?”

The girl hesitated, still standing protectively in front of the little boy, her thin arms outstretched as though she could shield him from the world.

“You won’t kill us?” she asked, voice still trembling, but trying to be brave. “You won’t kill my brother? He’s still a baby. I’m supposed to protect him.”

Rumi felt something splinter deep inside her.

The girl’s words hit harder than any blade ever had. Something about the desperation in her voice— the raw, instinctive fear of losing the only family she had— stirred memories Rumi had long buried. A sharp ache bloomed behind her ribs, something ancient and familiar. Not just sympathy… recognition.

Her demon blood stirred, pattenrs whispering along her skin like it always did when her emotions flared, but this time it wasn’t fear or rage that surfaced— it was sorrow. Guilt. A part of her she tried to hide even from herself— the part that had once been small and scared, just like this child, and taught to believe she’d never be safe. That she’d never be anything but a threat.

Her jaw clenched as she forced down the knot in her throat.

“We promise”, Rumi said, her voice low but unshakable. She stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, until she was just close enough to kneel in front of the girl without towering over her. “We won’t hurt either of you. I swear it.”

The child’s eyes flicked to her brother, who whimpered softly behind her, then back to Rumi’s face. She seemed to be searching for a lie. Waiting for a trick. But Rumi didn’t flinch under her gaze.

“We’ll keep you safe,” she added, more gently now. “Fed. Warm. Together.”

“You’re… like us,” the girl whispered. “Aren’t you?”

The words caught Rumi off guard. She hadn’t said a thing about her blood and for once she was covering up her patterns, not out of shame, but because of cool evening air. Nevertheless, the girl had sensed it—maybe in her scent, maybe in her aura, or maybe because scared kids could see through things adults couldn’t.

Rumi didn’t deny it. Wouldn’t.

“I am”, she said softly. “But I have people who help me. People who don't see me as just a demon. You and your brother deserve that too.”

A long, tense silence followed.

Then, hesitantly, like it might all vanish if she moved too quickly, the girl nodded.

“Minjae. And this is Hwan.”

Behind her, Hwan sniffled again but didn’t cry. He simply leaned into his sister’s leg and blinked up at the trio with eyes far too tired for someone so young. His older sister picked him up and set him on her hip. Usually, the sight would be a bit comical— a small child holding an even smaller child half her height— but given the circumstances, no one commented on it.

Mira let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Zoey stepped forward with a warm smile, already shrugging out of her jacket to cover the children.

“Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get you both out of the cold.”

As they made their way back through the alley, Minjae's hand found Rumi’s, small fingers curling into her palm. And Rumi—who had spent most of her life hiding what she was—felt something unexpected: the weight of responsibility, yes, but also a flicker of purpose.

~~~

The walk back to the van was quiet, broken only by the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional sniffle from Hwan. Minjae clutched Rumi’s hand the entire time, her grip small but firm, like she feared letting go would mean losing the fragile sense of safety she’d just been offered.

Zoey opened the side door and gently helped Mira clear the backseat, tossing aside duffel bags and costume cases to make space. The scent of stage sweat and lavender-scented makeup remover still lingered in the air, but Minjae didn’t seem to notice. She eyed the interior warily, like it was too good to trust.

“Is it okay if I hold him?” Rumi asked softly, crouching beside her. “You look tired.”

Minjae hesitated, not wanting to give her brother over to a stranger— a demon hunter no less— but she was tired. They hadn’t eaten in days and have rested properly since… well simply put, they haven’t had a good night’s rest in a long time. So against her better judgement, Minjae slowly peeled Hwan from her side. His tiny arms stayed locked around her neck until Rumi opened her own arms, patient and still. Finally, the little boy allowed himself to be passed over, and the second Rumi cradled him, he melted against her chest with a tired, hiccupping sigh.

Rumi’s heart clenched again.

She remembered what it was like to be that small and terrified. But Hwan didn’t shrink away from her warmth. He didn’t flinch at the trace of demon energy in her touch. Instead, he let out a quiet, contented breath and fell asleep.

Minjae climbed in after them and sat stiffly by the window, watching every move they made like she was still waiting for the illusion to crack.

“Do you want something to eat?” Zoey asked, passing her a small bag of crackers from the front console. “It’s not much, but—”

The girl snatched the bag, mumbling a quiet “thank you” as she tore it open. She offered one cracker to Hwan, who was still lightly snoring against Rumi’s shoulder and refused to be roused, before nibbling the rest herself.

Mira climbed into the front seat and turned the key, the engine purring to life.

“We should head back to the penthouse”, she said, glancing at Rumi in the rearview mirror. “It’s got space. And more food.”

Rumi nodded, brushing a gentle hand through Hwan’s hair. “Yeah. They need rest. We all do.”

As the van pulled into the night, city lights fading behind them, Rumi stared down at the sleeping boy in her arms and the fierce, wide-eyed girl beside her. Her demon patterns glowed faintly in the dim light of the van, flickering like old embers under her skin. But neither child flinched. They hadn’t recoiled from her blood or the power coiled beneath her skin.

That irony sank deep, curling somewhere behind her ribs. She had spent most of her life guarding the world from creatures like them—creatures like her. And now, somehow, she was cradling one and protecting the other, not with her weapons, but with the one thing she’d never thought she’d offer so freely: trust.

Strangely, it wasn’t the demon part of her that made them wary.

It was the hunter.

She tightened her hold around Hwan, feeling his warmth seep into her arms, and leaned back against the seat with a slow exhale. The day’s weight settled into her body like cooling iron, exhaustion, yes, but something quieter, heavier too.

~~~

The ride to the penthouse was mostly quiet, punctuated by the occasional whisper of the tires on asphalt and the soft rustle of Hwan shifting in his sleep. Zoey hummed along to a low-volume playlist playing through the speakers—mellow, wordless beats that filled the silence without demanding attention.

Minjae stayed stiff and alert the whole way, arms folded tightly across her stomach, eyes darting to every flicker of movement. Even when Mira offered her a blanket, she barely acknowledged it beyond a terse nod. Her trust had limits, and for now, it stopped short of comfort.

Once they reached the penthouse, Minjae's eyes kept darting around her surroundings. She stepped out of the van with slow, wary steps, staring up at the sleek glass tower like it might attack her.

The elevator ride was smooth and silent, but Minjae flinched when it chimed and opened into the heart of the HUNTR/X's private space.

It was large and open, soft lighting, and cozy modern furniture. A skyline view sprawled across one wall, a massive floor-to-ceiling window stretching the length of the living area. The penthouse was clearly lived in—half-drunk energy drinks, loose notebooks, and random articles of clothing strewn about—but it was safe. Warm.

Minjae hovered near the doorway like she didn’t belong.

“You can take your shoes off if you want,” Mira offered gently, slipping off her own boots and setting them by a bench near the door. “Or not. No rules here.”

Minjae didn’t move.

Rumi carried Hwan down the hall with ease, nudging open the guest room door with her foot.

“Where are you taking him?!” she cried, voice cracking and becoming distorted. Her eyes flared with an unnatural glow, and the patterns on her skin began to shine bright in a panic. Her fear wasn’t just visible—it was palpable.

Rumi paused at the doorway, careful not to startle her further.

“It’s okay,” she said gently, turning so Minjae could see that Hwan was still cradled safely in her arms. “Just the guest room. No one's taking him away from you.”

Minjae’s breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling too fast as the energy flickering across her skin pulsed once more—then slowly began to recede.

Rumi waited, calm and steady, her own demon patterns dimly lit in the soft hallway glow. Not hidden. Not threatening. Just present.

“Do you want to come with us?” she asked quietly.

Minjae’s lip trembled, her glowing eyes flicking between Rumi and her brother.

“…Yes,” she whispered.

Rumi nodded once. “Then come. You’ll be right beside him the whole time. I promise.”

And with that, she stepped through the doorway, leaving the door open behind her.

Minjae followed, her footsteps nearly silent on the polished floors. She watched carefully as Rumi gently laid Hwan down, pulling a soft blanket over him. It was a bit oversized for the boy, the fabric printed with bright, stylized images of all three women in their stage gear—a piece of merch from their last tour.

Rumi smoothed the blanket one more time before turning back the young girl.

“He’s okay”, she murmured, “You did a good job getting him this far.”

Minjae didn't respond, only nodding as she moved to sit next to her brother.

"You can stay here with him if you'd like–", Rumi said as she stood up and moved towards the door,"– but Zoey and Mira will be making food in the kitchen if you get hungry. You're welcome to join us anytime.”

She didn’t push, didn’t linger, just offered the choice and left the door slightly ajar, the warm light from the hallway spilling softly into the room.

~~~

In the kitchen, Zoey and Mira were already moving in sync—Zoey slicing vegetables with casual precision while Mira stirred something fragrant on the stove. The soft clatter of utensils and the comforting aroma of simmering broth filled the air, warm and grounding.

When Rumi stepped back in, Zoey handed her a steaming mug of ginger tea without a word, the warmth seeping into her fingers like a quiet thank-you.

Zoey gave her a sideways glance and a small nod. “How’s our little shadow?” she asked, voice low but laced with genuine concern.

Rumi took a slow sip of the tea, letting the heat settle her nerves before answering.

“She’s on edge,” she said softly. “Still watching everything like it might vanish or turn on her. But she stayed. Sat beside him. Didn’t run.”

Mira turned from the stove, brows knitting with quiet concern. “That’s a start.”

“She’s sharp,” Rumi added. “Not just scared—aware. She knew what I was before I said anything. Read me like she’s had to do it a hundred times before.”

Zoey leaned against Mira, wrapping her arms around her for support, the usual glint of playfulness in her eyes replaced with something steadier. “She’s probably been surviving on instinct alone for longer than she should’ve had to.”

Rumi paused.

"She’s scared we’re going to hurt him,” she said quietly. “Hurt them both.”

Mira straightened from the stove, her voice sharp, "We wouldn't. We would never hurt children."

“I know,” Rumi said, tightening her grip on the warm cup in her hands, letting the heat ground her. “We know that.”

She stared down into the steam rising from the tea, her voice dropping lower.

“But she doesn’t. All she sees are three demon hunters. And we kill demons. For her… that’s all she needs to know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—just honest. Heavy with the truth that good intentions alone weren’t always enough.

The conversation between the three women was interrupted when they heard the soft sound of Hwan’s footsteps echoed faintly down the hall, barefoot and stumbling. A moment later, he appeared at the edge of the kitchen, blanket trailing behind him, eyes bleary.

Before anyone could move, Minjae was already there. She’d followed close, silent as ever, scooping him up before he could fully call out.

Rumi and Zoey stepped aside to give them space, but Mira bent slightly, offering Hwan a small plastic cup filled with cooled broth and rice. “Hey there, little man. You hungry?”

Hwan blinked, then nodded, nestling his head against his sister’s shoulder as she accepted the cup on his behalf.

Zoey gave Minjae a faint smile. “We saved the good stuff.”

Minjae didn’t smile back. But she didn’t look as anxious either.

She took the cup, murmured a quiet “thank you,” and sat down at the kitchen table, Hwan in her lap. She sniffed it once—testing, unsure—then took a small spoonful. Satisfied that the food wasn't anything dangerous, Minjae began to feed Hwan.

Mira placed another, slightly bigger, bowl next to the girl.

"I could help you feed him.", Zoey offered, "So you can have a chance to eat while it's still hot."

Minjae’s spoon paused mid-air.

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked from Zoey to the bowl, then back down to Hwan, who was lazily reaching for the next bite. There was a flicker of hesitation in her hands, like she was weighing the offer for cracks or hidden edges.

“I can do it,” she said quietly.

Zoey nodded, backing off without protest. “Alright. Offer’s still open if you change your mind.”

Minjae didn’t respond. She simply returned to feeding Hwan, slower now, more thoughtful, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction.

Rumi pulled out a chair across from them and sat down, cradling her tea. She didn’t speak, didn’t stare, just offered quiet presence.

As Minjae continued spooning warm broth into her brother’s mouth, Mira slid a plate of sliced fruit toward her without a word, then joined Rumi at the table, passing her another steaming bowl for her to eat.

For a while, the only sounds were the quiet clink of spoons, the occasional slurp from Hwan, and Zoey humming under her breath as she tidied up the counter. The normalcy of it all—so strange, so human—was almost enough to blur the jagged edges of the day.

Minjae glanced up once, catching Rumi watching her.

“You’re not going to ask where we came from?” she asked.

Rumi shook her head gently. “Only when you’re ready to tell us.”

Minjae stared at her for a moment, searching for the lie.

She didn’t find one.

So she said nothing. And kept feeding her brother.

But this time, she took a bite of her own, too.

After both Hwan and Minjae had finished their food (including the fruit and some other snacks), the younger boy quickly fell back asleep in his sister's arms. She adjusted him gently, cradling his weight like it was second nature, protective even in her exhaustion.

And Minjae was exhausted.

Her shoulders slumped, and her grip on the empty bowl loosened as her eyes began to droop, blinking slower each time until her lashes barely fluttered. She tried to fight it—kept glancing around the room as if reminding herself she couldn’t afford to rest—but her body was betraying her. The warmth of the kitchen, the soft hum of Mira and Zoey’s quiet conversation, and the gentle clink of dishes being washed… it felt all too much like safety.

Rumi watched from across the table, her gaze softening as Minjae’s head slowly dipped forward.

“Poor thing.” she whispered.

Mira nodded, already rising from her chair. She moved with care, taking the empty cup from Minjae’s loose fingers and replacing it with the Huntr/x blanket Hwan had carried with him.

Gently, she draped it around the girl’s shoulders.

“She’s still holding onto him,” Zoey murmured, drying her hands on a towel. “Even in her sleep.”

“She’s had to,” Mira replied, voice low. “Too much, too soon. She’s been the only thing keeping him safe.”

The three women stood in silence for a moment, watching the siblings curled together in the chair like two castaways pulled from a storm.

“We should put them in the guest room,” Mira said. “They shouldn’t have to sleep sitting up.”

Rumi nodded.

This time, when she lifted Hwan from Minjae’s arms, there was no panic, no glowing eyes or distorted voice—just the soft exhale of a child too tired to wake. Minjae stirred slightly, frowning, her hand groping at empty air before Zoey stepped in and gently touched her shoulder.

“He’s okay,” Zoey said soothingly. “Just taking him to bed.”

Minjae didn’t fully wake, but the frown eased. Her fingers curled back against the blanket, and she leaned into the touch.

While Rumi and Zoey carefully carried the sleeping children, Mira moved ahead to ready the guest room—lights dimmed low, fresh pillows fluffed, warmth humming gently from the vent overhead. A soft sense of calm settled into the space, quiet and intentional.

Rumi laid Hwan down first, tucking him in with practiced care. Zoey followed close behind, carrying Minjae—lighter than expected, her small frame a silent testament to the hardship they’d endured.

The blankets were pulled snug around them. A soft nightlight clicked on, casting a golden glow across their resting faces. The air smelled faintly of chamomile and clean linen.

The three women lingered for a moment in the doorway, eyes fixed on the two sleeping figures nestled beneath the covers.

“We’re going to have to tell someone eventually,” Mira said quietly, arms crossed but voice gentle.

“Not yet,” Rumi replied, her voice low. “We’ll figure the rest out later. Right now, they just need to feel safe.”

What they’d found tonight hadn’t been part of the plan. It wasn’t a mission or a target. It was messy and sudden, inconvenient and uncertain.

But it felt right.

And for now, that was enough.

92 notes · View notes

st4rfortune · 25 days ago

Text

photobooth - nicolandria

☆ nic x olandria, 2.2k wc, not proofread!

☆ warnings: light smut, slight fluff, sub!nic if you squint

a/n: aftersun pushed me to finish this... whether we win or lose tomorrow i had so much fun being in the nicolandria nation this whole season 🙂‍↕️ (rip chellace yall should still be here 💔)

freshly showered and glowing, olandria made her way down the villa stairs to meet nic for the rest of their night together. her hand always felt secure and safe in nic's, as if nothing could go wrong while he's around.

the two engaged in small talk while walking over to get their wine for the night. nic grabbed her glass and handed it over before grabbing one for himself. the pink sweater-clad man attempted to pull olandria to talk but chelley’s glowing arm was linked in olandrias before nic could even blink. “sorry nicky-poo, but i needa talk with my girl!”

he watched the two go off to their spot and figure he might as well share his never-ending thoughts with ace while olandria is with chelley.

nic and ace went to sit at the barstools in the kitchen area, before ace could even get situated, the words began to flow out of nic, “bro, i think, like, i might be cooked,” ace stares with his eyebrow raised, willing him to continue, “i haven't felt this way in ages”

ace snickered to himself as nic went on, “today was so fun, like, that was the first time we've kissed since soul ties” and boy did nic think about that soul ties kiss often. the passion of their heated-makeout session had put him in a trance. he yearned to feel her plush lips envelop his once again, but he knew he had to be patient. to strategically wait until he could be with her again and she would give him the greenlight. he finally got to taste her again in the challenge today and he took full advantage of it, even going back for seconds.

“flirting with her is just fun as fuck and i just- ...i get the flutters” nic sips his wine as ace laughs in disbelief at how smitten his notoriously unserious friend is.

“bro,” ace starts “that's what love is supposed to feel like you know? like you feel like a kid when you're around your partner”

love. the notorious “L” word. as someone who would throw it around rather casually in the past (to 50 people at that) nic feels like he's uncovered a whole new meaning of the term. someone who he can be himself with but also helps him grow. someone that makes him feel like a kid again, but also who he can see himself with in the future. someone who's the yin to his yang.

someone like olandria.

nic found himself nodding at ace’s words and verbally agreeing with ace. he wouldn't mind being in love with olandria as long as she let him. ace went on, “if she makes you feel like that, don't be scared to dive in.”

nic’s eyes began to wander at that last statement until they landed on olandria behind him talking with chelley. he tended to do that, looking for her when she was in his vicinity. his hands would itch to be on her and not even in a sexual way. he just wanted to feel her presence, feel the warmth of her body near him. it was just comforting and familiar.

“hey ladies” nic goofily called out across the villa to olandria and chelley. as the girls laughed at nic’s antics, him and ace turned back around to continue their conversation on nics growing feelings

✮☆✮☆✮

some time later, nic was missing his girl. after their kisses in the challenge today and the handful of ass he was able to get from her, his need to feel olandria had only grown. strolling over to chelley and olandria (because he'd never make her walk over to him) and smiles at how focused she looked in her conversation, it was cute.

“sorry to interrupt ladies, but could i pull olandria for a chat?” olandria agrees and motions to stand. chelley meets olandria’s eyes with a knowing glint in them. the woman before him had her demeanor shift very subtly. nic noticed a blip of nervousness in olandria before she quickly regained her composure. what was that was about?

holding her hand, the couple made their way over to the speakeasy so they could be secluded from everyone else. nic's eyes raked over olandria's body as she led him. olandria always looked good, but red was a seriously lethal color on her. it made the undertones of her skin shine through, and she looked radiant, ethereal even.

as they talked in the speakeasy, nic could feel the nervousness bubbling off of her. despite her typically having a strong personality, nic loved when she got like this. it meant he had an effect on her and nic liked that. it was cute, so cute he wanted to kiss her nerves away. to kiss her so deeply she'll be as infatuated with nic as he was with her.

“i like these two pieces of hair you have here,” the very same two pieces she almost always had out, that had been on another islander who shall-not-be-named. he was just spitballing until he could find an opening to kiss her or to let her kiss him. taking care of olandria almost came naturally to him after this romance was rekindled, but he knew not to push her too far when making progress. she had to have room to make her own decisions.

“thank you nicky,” she beamed at him, he really never understood how taylor couldn't compliment her as if she's not the most beautiful woman the world had ever seen? “let's go to the photobooth!” olandria suggested and stood up. hand in hand they strolled out of the speakeasy to the photobooth just around the corner.

olandria glanced down at her outfit and then nics “our outfits are so different, it's so funny” with no hesitation nics sweater was off his shoulders. like hell he'd want to mess up her pictures. he slid into the photobooth and olandria followed suit and sat comfortably on nic’s thigh.

the feeling of her soft ass was reminding him of how she had him just the other night. rutting against her for any sort of friction. he wouldn't mind being in that position again, as long as it made olandria feel safe and in control.

snapping back to reality, the picture booth began to take pictures. his large hands found purchase on olandrias barely-there waist, caging her in and keeping her close to him.

one heart pose and back hug later, nic found himself waiting for olandrias next command. he idly grabbed the sides of her waist and olandrias hands fell on top of his and snaked them up her body.

with no hesitation, nic’s hands shot up to her boobs. they were just as supple as they looked. nic could already imagine himself drowning in them. drawing a nipple into his mouth and nipping at the bud, swirling it around with his tongue.

unconsciously he began to bite his lower lip and the photobooth snapped another picture. something in the air shifted then, like the tension between them had be heightened. nic heard the faint thudding of olandria’s heart in her chest. nic figured it wouldn’t hurt to give olandria a little help with initiating a kiss if she was this nervous.

turning her around at the waist, nic stares in olandrias eyes, then drops them to her lips. nic grins and olandrias lips find his as his hand finds solace on her neck for a split second before dropping to wrap around her waist. kissing olandria felt natural to nic, as if this is where his lips were meant to be locked for the rest of eternity. he actually wouldn’t mind that.

the initial kiss was slow, deep, passionate. if signified all their emotions they couldn’t properly express verbally. and their lips began to tangle further, the last snap of the photobooth picture was long in the past. there was no one else in this space now but them. fiery intensity built up inside of nic again, eager to ravish the deity on his lap.

nic swung olandrias leg around his other thigh so she was properly straddling him, all without breaking their kiss. her tongue darted out to swipe at his bottom lip for entrance and he granted it with no hesitation.

nic pulled away from the kiss for a second to really absorb olandria. the fabric of her dress rode up to expose her ass to the camera of the photobooth, wearing nothing but red lacy panties to match the color of her dress. nic felt his dick jump in his pants and palmed her ass since just a visual would never do it justice,

“youre so fucking sexy ola”

he squeezed, and the swell of fat in his hand was intoxicating. nic could have his hands roam all over olandria all day if she let him. the day his depraved mind take over would be such a memorable one. he’d finally get to talk her through it, take his time devouring every part of her body, suck and lick on every inch of exposed flesh he could see. but again, only if she let him. he'd do whatever she says, he wanted to serve her. treat her like the goddess she is.

unconsciously, nic began to grind his dick up into her clothed heat, relishing in the familiar feeling from the night ago. olandria let out a strangled moan and gazed down at him with dark eyes. her hand latched around his neck and led his lips up to meet hers once again.

and just like that, they found a rhythm. nics hips bucking up to relieve the pleasure building up inside him, meeting the dampness of olandrias panties grazing her core and eliciting sweet sounds of pleasure from olandria. all the while, she has jaw stuck in place via her assertive grip on his neck while his lips envelope hers.

olandria sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, sending the same buzzy feeling from their soul ties kiss tingling through nic and sets him dangerously close to release. “o-olandria im close” he manages to get out in between moans. he begins to pick up his pace, humping into her like a starved animal.

all at once, everything stops. the shy woman felt too much was happening too fast, and that she was too willing to take it that far with nic right then. olandria moves herself onto nics thigh again as she breaks from the makeout session and releases his neck to assess the damage.

nics pupils were blown wide and his hair was tousled in every direction. olandrias makeup had been in splotches all over the lower half of nics face. he looked up at her with his dilated eyes, eyebrows furrowed in desperation to finish after all the build-up. she should at least reward him after all that.

olandria momentarily stood to pull her lace panties down her legs. holding the fabric she readjusted her dress and looked as confidently as possible in this confined space. “since you so eager to finish, do it then. ill watch” and she placed her panties in nics palm.

all rationale had left nic at this point. without breaking eye contact, he fumbles his belt and pants zipper and frees his hardened dick from its confines, hissing at the feeling of the air against it. wrapping the soiled fabric around his shaft, nic jerks his cock with fervor he's never had before.

his eyes were trained on olandria and scanned her for a second, her perfect body, her big eyes focused on him and his pathetic form. “hah- fuck,” nic stared so intently back at her eyes, with as much promise and desire as he could. olandira had to understand that he was only this unraveled because of her. that every part of him was under lock and key until she wanted him. only then would he take charge.

his orgasm hit him like a brick wall, overtaking all of his senses. he let out a string of moans that were immediately muffled by the sound of olandrias hand on his mouth. she removed her hand a second later as he calmed down and caressed his hair, “you did so good nicky baby”

a toothy grin was plastered on his face knowing that he was able to please olandria. he liked being handled by her, touched by her. he felt reassured knowing that she liked having some semblance of control over him. once she finally felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable to be around him, she wouldn't even be able to remember commanding nic like this.

however as a freak, he didn’t mind olandria like this every once in a while.

nic gathered himself together after stuffing her cum-soaked panties in his pocket. olandria stepped out the photobooth and nic followed. the man was dazed and had his head in the clouds. nic was about to to wipe his lips before his hand dropped back down. he liked showing off olandria, showing off her makeup on his face to display how intimate they were with one another. that’s why he left the photobooth curtain slightly open the whole time, anybody who'd walk by or see them would know that he’s olandria’s just as much as she’s his. it was a mutual sense of ownership, but nic wanted to serve her every need on top of that. he was at her beck and call and would gladly walk through hell and highwater to keep her happy.

olandria placed a kiss on nics cheek as she strutted away back to chelley, his gaze followed her. he could really get used to this outside the villa.

#nicolandria #olandria love island #olandria carthen #nic and olandria #nic vansteenberghe #nic love island #love island fic #love island usa #love island season 7

319 notes · View notes

gothcsz · 4 months ago

Text

Safety Net: Part I | ~13.8k wc | Co-Written with @ovaryacted | Series Masterlist

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Motivated by boredom, Marcus goes on a sugar dating app and lands himself a date with you, the only person that captured his attention.

CHAPTER TAGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Modern AU. Sugar daddy Marcus Acacius/Sugar baby reader. Age gap [Marcus is 50/reader is 25+]. SMUT. Plot with porn. Kissing/Makeout session. Dry humping. Premature ejaculation. Oral (f! receiving). Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. MARCUS THE MUNCH! Sexual tension. Flirting & banter. First date chronicles. Lots of plot & world building beforehand. Takes place in Chicago. Marcus uses a sugar dating app. Reader is explicitly described as a curvy woman of color: darker skin tone, curly hair texture, etc. Reader has feminine characteristics - wears dresses, heels, jewelry, & makeup. Reader is afab and able bodied. Marcus is recently divorced. Marcus comes from old money and is a businessman. Chivalry isn't dead.

A/N: This has been in the works for far too long but finally, we managed to lock in and cook up some straight heat! This is what happens when you put two yapping hoes on a doc, so we hope everyone who feens for Marcus Acacius as much as we do enjoys the fruits of our labor lol. Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated. Support your BIPOC writers 🖤

Another lone dinner, nothing but the gritty sound of the song echoing from his record player to accompany him.

Tonight was meant to be a small victory. Marcus had enrolled in a cooking class to keep busy after the divorce, and this meal was supposed to put those new skills to use. But as he chopped, cooked, ate and cleaned, the expected satisfaction never came. Instead, a quiet boredom crept in—maybe even isolation.

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, simply going through the motions.

He brings the rim of his glass up to his lips, eyes falling down to the city below. From his penthouse, the skyline sometimes blurs beneath a soft haze of clouds, making the world below look like a dream. The wealth, the view, the opulence—it’s everything people imagine happiness to be. And yet… loneliness seeps into his bones, slowly debilitating his already precarious joy.

He assumed that divorcing from his now ex-wife would help pull him out of this stupor. They were both in agreeance that their marriage had been nothing but one out of convenience—the best thing for the both of them at that time. No romance, no passion, just a practical arrangement that worked. At least, until it didn’t.

Marcus hadn’t expected her to fight for the marriage, but he also hadn’t expected her to fixate on the prenup. One night, in the midst of her moving out, he’d overheard her gossiping on the phone with one of her friends. It would’ve gotten a lot nastier if I hadn’t gotten what I was owed.

The words hit harder than he expected. On some level, he had loved her. Not in the way a husband should love a wife, but in a way that still meant something to him. There had been care, respect, even a kind of tenderness—out of duty, maybe, but real nonetheless. He even enjoyed being a stepfather to her teenage son.

No resentment was held, not when they were about to part ways.

She was entitled to a payout, and he made sure she got it, wiring the full amount before the lawyers could sink their teeth into the process. No use in dragging things out or turning something empty into something bitter.

So they ended it quietly and swiftly. One last dinner as husband and wife, a toast to a chapter closing, and then the signing of papers that made it official.

It has been months since then, and Marcus is right where he’s always been. The same life, the same routine—just without the pretense of a marriage. He’s outgrown the bachelor lifestyle and has no interest in jumping back to it. He’s in fifties with a divorce under his belt, family business in his care, and more money than he knows what to do with.

Most men in his position would see this as a rebirth, an excuse to run wild. He’s seen it plenty—divorcees burning through their wealth to impress women half their age, indulging in recklessness until, eventually, they wonder how the fuck they lost it all.

The thought makes him scoff slightly, shaking his head as he continues to lose himself in his own mind, still gazing over the city.

Ever since word got out that he was single again, the men in his social circle have been relentless. They want him to “get back out there,” find some young thing to do more than stroke his ego and remind him he’s still got it. Their concern isn’t for his happiness—it’s for their own validation. They want him to fall in line, to indulge like they do, to prove they’re all still kings of their own little worlds.

The idea of dating brings a faint migraine thumping at his temples. No way in hell. He doesn’t have it in him to go through first date purgatory of asking the same grueling questions, only to have nothing in common with the person at the end of the night. And his work acquaintances aren’t suggesting anything so conventional, anyway.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve invited him to strip clubs or proposed outrageous tropical getaways filled with booze and paid company. They aren’t subtle about their misogyny, either. They brag about the escorts they’ve hired, the women they’ve bought for the night, offering him contact information like they’re handing out business cards. In case you get tired of using your fist all the time, they joke.

The detachment of sex is what he finds peculiar. It’s not about pleasure, it’s about seeking validation from other men while putting another notch at their bedpost. It’s why he rarely accepts their invitations. Avoiding their outings, distancing himself as much as he can… but only to a certain degree. Unfortunately, these men are his business partners, and in his world, he wasn’t exactly given the luxury of full separation.

The act of paying for sex isn’t the problem. He doesn’t care how they get their satisfaction, really, it only grates on him when their vulgarity spills into business meetings, when corporate lunches turn into competitions over who had the best night with the most expensive woman.

Take today, for example, when a longtime partner had sidled up to him as he was headed home for the day, practically shoving the phone into Marcus’s hands.

“Met this chick on that app I was telling you about and scored myself a date tonight. She’s hot.”

Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the way this grown man was waving the information around as if it were something to boast about. He barely glanced at the screen—a woman in a tight dress posing in front of a bar. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Congratulations?

Before he had to give an answer, the elevator doors opened. A perfect escape. He handed the phone back and muttered a quick, “Have a good weekend,” stepping out and letting the doors shut on yet another conversation he wanted no part of.

Now he’s here, two and a half glasses of whiskey deep with a curiosity that feeds off his boredom. He retreats from his reprieve at the window, walking into the living room and settling on the couch. Flipping mindlessly through TV channels, nothing seems to hold his attention.

His fingers drum against the side of the glass cup before intrigue gives way, slipping a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb, his whiskey resting loosely in his other hand.

With furrowed brows, Marcus navigates through his phone at an infuriatingly slow pace. He squints slightly, trying to read the small text, and his large thumbs fumble across the keyboard, leaving a string of typos that have him muttering curses under his breath. He misspells the damn thing twice until finally, the name of the ridiculous app pops up in the search results.

The little loading circle spins, downloading the application to his phone. When the prompt to open it appears, he hovers, as if contemplating if this is even worth it. A few seconds pass before the liquor in his system decides for him, opening the app with a tap.

The first thing it asks is if he’s the benefactor or the beneficiary. He huffs, taking a sip of his drink, choosing his role as the sugar daddy before ultimately filling in the blanks needed for an account set up. It all feels ridiculous, but what does he have to lose?

Then he reaches the About Me section and stops. The blinking cursor taunts him, he can’t help but scowl at it, whiskey swirling in his glass as he thinks. What do you say about yourself when you don’t even know what you want?

Marcus A. 50+. Chicago. Business Owner. Not sure what to say here. First time trying something like this. I prefer a strong drink over small talk, but I appreciate good conversation with someone who has something to say.

Not his best work, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He skips through the rest of the trivial questions—religion, favorite movies, hobbies. The longer the list grows, the more tedious it feels.

Then comes the photo prompt. Somehow, this feels like the hardest part.

Marcus scrolls through his camera roll and realizes most of his photos aren’t of him at all—just landscapes from his travels, on-site projects, plenty from his trips back home to Italy, but few that actually put him in the frame.

He settles on a lone one from an important dinner a few years back. It’s stiff, formal, but at least it’s something.

When he’s done, he studies the profile. Sparse. Impersonal. He’s not exactly proud of it, but he’s not here to impress anyone. He’s here to look—nothing more.

The next hurdle? Preferences.

He frowns slightly, finishing off his drink before setting the glass on the coffee table. He sinks further into the couch, glaring at the screen.

He sets the minimum to twenty-five. Mature enough to have lived a little, young enough that he isn’t limiting himself too much. Local, of course. No sense in complicating things.

With that, he’s finally done.

Marcus isn’t sure what he expected, but the more he scrolls, the less interested he becomes.

The app is filled with beautiful women—plenty of soft smiles, sultry gazes, perfectly angled selfies. Glossy, curated versions of themselves, posed just right, filters smoothing away any perceived imperfection. He sees them in designer bikinis lounging on yachts, captions that all seem to blur together. No hookups. Fluent in sarcasm. Just here for the pay pigs.

That last one gets a quiet chuckle out of him.

Nevertheless, it’s all the same. It bores the hell out of him. He swipes left again and again and again…

He’s about to call the whole thing immature bullshit when he comes across your profile.

No forced captions, no excessive filters, no painfully obvious attempts to curate some idealized version of yourself. You have a natural confidence, an ease in the way you present yourself. The way you talk about your interests—travel, food, new experiences—it doesn’t feel like a list of things meant to impress.

And then there are your pictures.

Your hair is thick, wild with curls, framing your face in a way that makes you look like you belong in the kind of old-world paintings he admires when he’s abroad. Your brown skin, kissed with warmth, glows under the soft light of a restaurant where you’re pictured, hands wrapped around a glass of wine, a knowing, almost amused look in your eyes. There’s another shot of you at a market, caught mid-laugh as you react to something just out of frame.

Marcus exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Damn.

He doesn’t message you. Not yet.

He told himself that this app was just for curiosity, just to look and pass the time. He hadn’t expected to actually come across someone that made him consider.

The whole damn thing feels ridiculous. He’s a grown man, successful, established. And here he is, sitting alone in his penthouse, scrolling through an app designed to find a sugar baby of all things. What the hell is he even doing?

Without thinking about it, he taps the Super Like and immediately closes out the application.

You probably have a dozen other prospects already lining up in your messages, throwing out their best lines, trying to capture your attention. He’s just another name in the mix, another notification you might just skim over before moving on.

So be it, he got it out of his system—whatever that was. Some passing curiosity, a distraction fueled by whiskey and boredom. By tomorrow, he’ll be preoccupied with work, meetings, actual obligations, and the whole thing will be nothing more than a brief lapse of judgment. Maybe he should save himself the trouble and just delete the damn app now, wipe his profile along with it before he even has the chance to regret it.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sighs, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders before making his way toward the bedroom. His night routine is as methodical as everything else.

Yet, as he settles into bed, he finds himself thinking about you and how for a moment, he had felt something he hadn’t in a long time—intrigue.

The next day flies by quickly for Marcus, swamped with the countless meetings lined up for him at the architectural firm. Overseeing a new development in the city took whatever time he might’ve thought he had, his poor assistants making multiple trips to the coffee shops nearby as the day progressed. He was already greatly familiar with the boost of caffeine running through his veins, growing more on edge with every file that lands on his desk.

By the time he got home, he was damn near slumping against his front door, tossing his keys in the trinket tray by the foyer, tugging off his blazer and throwing it over the edge of the couch while dragging his tired feet to the kitchen. Yanking on his tie and popping it off with one swift pull, he removes his cufflinks and folds the sleeves of his button down up to his forearms, plucking a few of the buttons from his collar to finally allow himself to breathe.

Reaching over to one of the cabinets, he grabs himself a glass, dropping in some ice cubes and taking his favorite brand of whiskey, filling it halfway. The headache building at his temples ebbs away as he gulps down the amber liquid, palms resting on the granite countertop under him. He merely stares at the stone, eyes blank and now deep in thought. A frustrated exhale leaves his aquiline nose, running a hand through his graying curls as the stress of the day radiates through every cell in his body.

He knows he should probably just order something for dinner tonight over cooking, his mind too fried to put together an ingredient list, and the thought of washing dishes was enough to force the decision for him.

Marcus refills his glass and takes his phone to the living room, turning on the TV and leaving the news to play for some background noise as he sorts through his options of what he might be able to stomach.

What was he even in the mood for? Italian? Korean? Chinese? Some lo-mein sounds good, maybe with an egg-roll or two? Yeah, that sounds about fine.

He calls his order in, finding some spare cash and picks it up from the lobby. He didn’t bother to remove his leather shoes when he took the elevator 50 floors down for the handoff, coming back up the same way until he was munching into an egg-roll covered in duck sauce on the couch.

Food long gone and the glass coffee table now cleared of his takeout, the gold watch on Marcus’ wrist reads 10:30 pm when he finds himself weary of the late night news turned mediocre comedy segment. Grabbing his phone and pinning a few emails for him to read over in the morning, he swipes to his apps menu, spotting the new dating application he had completely forgotten about since setting up his profile the night before.

Fuck it, what the hell.

With no thought, Marcus opens the app for a second time, watching the icon load on the screen before he lands on the main page. Swiping to the chats section, his screen explodes with the 99+ Super Likes he had gotten over the past 24 hours. Yet, he could care less of the other profiles he has to sort through. The only match that loads on his screen is from your account, an unread message he had gotten no notification of despite it sitting idly in his inbox for a day. Nervously, he taps at the message box, your icon popping up on the screen along with what you had sent last night.

“So you’re just going to super like my account and not say anything?”

The corner of his lip twitches when he reads that over, his eyes scanning over the sentence more than once with a raised eyebrow. His brain short-circuits as he tries to find a suitable response that doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s positive he already looks like an idiot by having an account in the first place, but he’s gotten this far, might as well stick around.

After a few minutes of typing and deleting a singular sentence, he triple checks his spelling until he’s satisfied with what he came up with before hitting send.

Marcus A.: “Must’ve missed the chat option when I hit your profile. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, I’m new to this whole thing.”

His screen updates with the dot under your profile turning green, a sign that you were active again. You definitely saw his message, and the three little dots he notices at the bottom make his pulse spike, anxiously waiting for what else you had to say to him.

“That’s okay. Figured you had other things going on. You look like a guy that has a lot on their plate, Mr. Businessman.”

Now he was smirking.

Marcus A.: “You have no idea.” He typed the reply and sent it, and you responded just as quickly.

“Try me.”

Should he talk about what he has to deal with on a daily basis with his work? Bore you with how he oversees the blueprints of different construction plans throughout the city and has extensive meetings that last all day? So much for a lasting first impression.

Marcus A.: “I wouldn’t want to bother you with work stuff. It’s not all that interesting.”

“I don’t mind really. I’m a little curious to know what takes up all of your time. Must be something serious if you’re all stressed out.”

No harm in being honest right?

Marcus A.: “Well, usually I have a lot of meetings and paperwork to handle while conducting new building developments in the city. But today was particularly hectic, I was swamped all day, probably drank way more coffee today than I had all year.”

Was that good enough? Not too much, not too little. Didn’t come off as petulant or like he wanted pity. This isn’t too bad, at least Marcus thinks so considering you were working on your reply.

“Sounds like a lot of intense work, lots of brain power. At least you have a team to help you out, takes a bit of the strain off your back. Hope you’re relaxing a bit now.”

Marcus A.: “Yeah, got home late but had some dinner. Just watching the news before I repeat the cycle tomorrow. How was your day?”

Bingo. Perfect bait and switch.

“Boring, honestly. Work was alright for the most part, finished a bit early. Ate a few hours ago, and was reading something before bed when I saw your message.”

Oh? Another avid reader?

Marcus A.: “What do you like to read?”

“A mix of things. Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, History, Romance. It depends on my mood really, but right now it’s Circe by Madeline Miller.”

Marcus A.: “I read that a while back, it’s a pretty good book. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“It definitely has my interest. I hit the halfway mark, so maybe I'll keep you updated once I finish it. :)”

Somehow, he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

Marcus A.: “I wouldn’t mind listening to your thoughts about it.”

The three little dots appear for a second before vanishing. Marcus stares at the screen for a beat longer, hoping it wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe he scared you off? Said the wrong thing, or something finally gave away just how out of touch he was to all of this. At this rate, he might as well get 50 & Divorced tattooed on his forehead in bright red ink.

There was no point in stressing out about this anymore, it’s late anyway, close to midnight and past his conscious bedtime. Switching the TV and lights off in the living room, he quickly showers and rinses the day off. Changing into some fleece pants and a baggy gray shirt, he brushes his teeth and spits out his mouthwash, flicking off the light as he steps into his bedroom.

As he slips into his too-big king sized bed, he untucks the cream sheets and rests his head on one of the many pillows, glaring up at the ceiling with a huff. Turning over to his side, he catches the lights of the downtown area reflecting by the window, trying his best not to think about how cold and empty the other side of his bed remained. With a sigh, he eases into slumber, hoping that whatever tomorrow brings will be significantly better than today.

The next day in his week was thankfully less hectic, but instead of document packets, his phone had been going off all day speaking to clients, other business partners, and suppliers. And that was only counting Chicago. He got other additional calls from properties in New York, Los Angeles, and now some new construction he’s attempting to get signed off in Miami. He was so preoccupied with his business phone that his personal device was left untouched for the majority of the day.

It was 8:00 pm when Marcus walks through the front doors of his penthouse, repeating the same mundane pattern of tending to his needs and finding something to keep himself occupied until he fell asleep. In the back of his head, he remembers the brief conversation he had with you last night, curiosity getting the best of him as he wonders if you left him something to read over this morning.

Tensely, he opens up the dating app, heading straight to his inbox to click on your unread message from 18 hours ago.

“Maybe I’ll send you a full book review. Put it in an episode of a podcast. I think it would do numbers.”

The circle on your icon is green now, and he rapidly types something so he doesn’t lose this momentum.

Marcus A.: “Forgive me for the terrible response time, I had another busy day in the office, dealing with non stop phone calls this time.”

The three little dots turn up again, and Marcus sighs in relief.

“No worries. You have things to handle, just part of being a working adult.”

If he wants to take his shot, he knows his best chance is to do it now.

Marcus A: “Actually, I’d like to get your number, if that’s alright. Me and this app don’t mix well. I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea and make you think you were being ignored.”

You begin typing before you disappear, the green circle now turning gray. He scared you off, maybe even gave you the ick when that was the last thing he wanted. Marcus was just doomed from the start, and getting on this app was a mistake. What would you even really want to do with an old man like him? It’s pitiful really.

Anxiously, he shuts his phone off and storms off into his bedroom, throwing some water on his face and getting into bed once more. He probably should’ve just went to sleep and left you alone, but his hands itch to see if you answered him. Twisting to get his phone from his bedside table and reopening the app, the empty space in his chest flutters when he sees you had left him a very clear yes with your entire phone number, right there for him to take it.

Copying and pasting your number into his phone, he sent you a quick text letting you know it was him, and you reassured him this was no problem, that you hated the app with a burning passion.

“I’m guessing it’s close to your bedtime now?”

Marcus A: “Unfortunately, I’m an old man remember? But, my phone will be on me tomorrow, so I’ll be around if you want to chat some more.”

“Sure thing, I’ll be around too. Don’t want to keep you up so I’ll let you go. Goodnight Marcus.”

He likes the way you say his name, type it out like it’s yours to say. With one last “goodnight”, his phone is off and his face is digging into the pillow underneath. For once, he is looking forward to tomorrow, and secretly hopes that you’d still be interested in talking some more. Maybe, he might just end up lucky.

Marcus quickly realizes he enjoys talking with you; at least when you both had the time to converse with each other, it was better than scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Texting is convenient for the most part when he can, sending little questions about you here and there, and you feed him breadcrumbs, still holding some control over how you want him to perceive you. He doesn’t mind, he’s mostly on your time, and if you want to play the cat and mouse game, he’ll play.

It was actually you that asked to call him the first time, a laconic talk just to hear his voice, to get a feel of him. Marcus didn’t know what to think of how you reacted to the way he spoke, but he knows hearing your voice might’ve been the catalyst to his growing interest in you. The conversation was short-lived, but it was good to hear you on the other end.

He has enough confidence to call you again later on in the week after work, a more extensive recap of both of your days. In the midst of laughing at a stupid joke he’s made, he’s thinking of the best way to formally ask you out. He’d been mulling over it for the past few days as you both tiptoed on getting to know one another, and he knows if he wants to take his shot, it has to be now.

“Out of curiosity, are you free Friday night?” He inquires, holding his phone close to his ear, anticipating every word you say.

“I might be, unless I just happened to forget my plans. Why?”

Shooter’s shot.

“I wanted to take you out to dinner. There’s this steakhouse downtown by Kinzie Street, really nice food, intimate setting, expensive wine or cocktails if that’s your thing. Think it would be a good time.”

“You had me at cocktails.” You both chuckled at that notion. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Does 7 work for you?”

“Make it 7:30. A girl needs time to get ready, Marcus. First impressions matter y’know?” It was his turn to laugh despite his hands sweating.

“Then I’ll come by at 7:30 and pick you up. Unless you want to go on your own, I can arrange a ride for you.”

You hummed on the other end of the line, contemplating your choices. Probably assessing what was the smartest way of getting out of the situation if things were to go horribly wrong.

“A ride to the place might be better. You don’t need to see me full of anxiety so early in the night.”

“Well, I want to see you either way. I’ll have my driver pick you up, alright? How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect. It’s a date then.” There was no question or doubt from you, and he’s glad you were the one that determined what the occasion was.

“It’s a date. I’ll see you Friday night.”

The call ends, and Marcus missed how intense his heart had been beating in his ribcage the entire time. Setting a reminder to call the restaurant tomorrow to place the reservation, he spots the time on his phone screen blinking 11:45 pm on a Wednesday. Two more days until he gets to meet you face to face, and the thought alone brings an eerie sense of restlessness to his stomach.

He’s made it this far, there’s no way he could fuck this up, right?

Friday night rolls around, and the anxiety that’s been bubbling in Marcus’ gut since he asked you out to dinner rears its ugly head. He spent a significantly longer time getting ready, making sure to fit a haircut in during his lunch break and left some room for a beard trim after his extensive shower. Hyper focused on making the most ideal first impression, he dabbles some scented aftershave on his neck and mixes it in with a few spritz of his signature cologne, double checking to ensure it isn’t too overwhelming.

Sorting through the multitude of suits hanging in his closet, Marcus decides that sticking to what he knows would be the best thing for him. He pulls out a classic black suit set and matching dress shoes, foregoing a tie and leaving the first button undone, the skin of his neck slightly visible from the opening. Clicking his golden cufflinks into their designated slots, he finishes his look for the night with his golden watch on his left wrist and slipping on the emerald signet ring on his right pinkie. Before stepping out the door, he takes the bouquet of long stemmed roses he picked out for you, giving his styled curly hair a look over and walking out the front door.

Regardless of how put together he appears, he is anything but composed. Finding himself way out of his comfort zone, his lack of experience in the dating department catches up with him on his drive downtown. His phone rings with a message from you letting him know you’ve been picked up and will be meeting him soon. It was 7:15 pm when you sent that text, and the lump in his throat worsens his breathing the closer 7:30 pm comes.

He’s been mentally preparing for your arrival for the past ten minutes, repeatedly staring down at his watch or his phone to see if you’ve said anything else to him since your last message. Waiting out front, roses in hand, his mind resets to his default settings of methodical overthinking once it hits 7:35 pm.

Did you stand him up? No, maybe something happened on the commute. Must be sudden traffic, it is a Friday night after all. Or you finally came to your senses and your cold feet convinced you to turn his car around and head in the opposite direction.

By 7:40 pm, the familiar view of one of his Escalades rolling into the driveway quiets his mind, brown eyes focusing solely on the figure that steps out from the vehicle.

He is immediately struck.

The dress you’ve chosen is sinful in its simplicity—long-sleeved, form-fitting black fabric hugging every curve, sculpting you like it was made for your body alone. The light jacket you wear does little to hide your figure underneath it; the dress flows over your hips and clings to your waist, cuts off right above your knee leaving your calves bare for him to admire, not to mention the neckline teases just low enough to show the swells of your breasts.

Your curls are pulled back in a half-up style that showcases your beautiful features accentuated by your makeup, leaving the delicate slope of your neck bare—an invitation, a temptation. The golden accents—your earrings, your rings, and the necklace that rests against your collarbone—catch in the evening light, making your warm brown skin glow like you’re drenched in sunlight.

He swallows hard, his grip tightening around the bouquet in his hand as he watches you step forward, poised and self-assured, utterly unaware of the effect you have on him.

He’s staring. He knows he is, yet he can’t help it.

Because right now, with the city lights flickering behind you and that unreadable expression on your face as you scan the area for him, you look like something ethereal. Like a star that shot down from the sky and landed right in front of him, impossibly real, impossibly his for the night.

He stands frozen in awe of you until your glossy lips move, talking to him in the flesh.

“Marcus, right?” you ask, holding on to your purse with one hand. “I’m so sorry for being late, the traffic was more active than usual. I hope I didn’t ruin anything?”

He finally finds his voice in the next couple of blinks.

“No, it’s alright. It’s a Friday night, I forget everyone else has plans set.” That gets you to laugh, and he exhales at the break in tension. “You look beautiful.” It’s sincere as he says it, and from the way you smile at his words, he thinks he’s doing something right.

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself.” You were a witty one, at least from the tone of your voice and demeanor, he can tell this wasn’t your first rodeo. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I came empty handed. A little birdie told me that first impressions matter, remember?” The corner of your mouth curls up at the way he echoes your words from two nights ago, a light chuckle escaping you. He extends his arm to hand you the bouquet, observing your reaction as he did so.

“They’re lovely, thank you,” your voice softens as you speak to him, a faint warmth settling on your cheeks under your makeup.

“Of course. Ready to go inside?” He suggests, and with a nod you take a step forward to the restaurant’s entrance.

As the hostess ushers you through the restaurant, Marcus keeps the steady weight of his palm on your lower back, just the right amount of pressure to not seem too forceful. You are brought to a more quiet section of the place, a few other dining patrons nearby but limited in number. The setting is intended to be intimate with the dim warm-toned lighting, a mixture of stone and archived pictures of an industrialized Chicago decorating the walls around you.

The hostess steps away once you reach your table, and Marcus swiftly helps you remove your thin jacket, placing it on the edge of your chair and pulling it out for you to take a seat, pushing you in afterward. Now situated in your designated place, the older man steps around you, watching him as he undoes the front button of his suit jacket before sitting down, looking in your direction and offering a gentle smile. Mimicking his expression, you drop the flowers at the center of the table, feeling the delicate tablecloth in front of you.

“Have you been here before?” He queries once you are both settled, a waiter coming by to fill your glasses with water.

“No, I’ve been trying to score a reservation here for months but I heard it’s been booked out way in advance. Not entirely surprised you found a way to grab a table so quickly, but color me shocked.”

“I’m a man of many talents. It’s a good thing you found me when you did.” The same waiter from before returns to pass the menu, prepared to give the tailored list of the chef’s specials for the night. “Feel free to indulge. Get whatever you like.”

As tempting as the invitation is, you are more than conscious of what you order off the menu. Playing it safe with a classic salad, a hearty steak, and two glasses of wine that leave you satisfied in terms of appetite. Marcus surprisingly does a good job of keeping you engaged throughout the night with simple conversation, easing into the comfortably of letting his curiosity speak for itself with the questions he asks. Though, he quickly comes to realize you’re charismatic with your responses, almost trained to know what to expect, how to answer and the tone you should be using.

It’s by the time the entree hits your table and you finish your first glass of wine that you loosen up, flipping his questions back to him, finding out more about his career, who he is, his likes and dislikes. Your grin widens more with every sip of your drink, pacing yourself to be sensible in your consumption while you eat.

Now almost finished with your second glass of expensive red, you swirl the last drops that pool at the bottom of the glass. You glance at him from across the table, eyeing him closely with a hint of mischief. He mirrors your expression, his cheek dimpling as he looks at you from the other end.

“You’re an awfully observant man, Marcus.” You remark, a slight edge to your voice, glossy lips staining the rim of your glass as you finish off your drink.

“When something is deserving of my attention, I have a habit of not cheapening out.” He playfully shrugs, his glass running empty a while ago, declining a refill as he’s taking it easy tonight. “Are you in the mood for dessert?”

Whether he meant the next course or something else, that was for him to know and for you to find out. Though, as enticing the prospect is to take it there, you don’t want to misread the situation beyond what it is.

“I actually don’t think I have room for anything else, the steak did a number on me.” An upbeat giggle pours out of you, and he laughs along with you.

“Then unless you want another glass of wine, I can ask for the check. Or…” his voice drifts off, the suspense grabbing your attention.

“Or?” That’s when he sees it, a spark of intrigue that fills him with a boldness he’s been harboring since sitting down at this table.

“Or you can join me for a drink, back at my place, if you’d like of course. If not, I can drop you off at home before heading back to mine.” Marcus is asking you to go back home with him, at least that’s what he thinks. Yet, it almost seems like it’s more than a suggestion, but a subdued command. Not that you’re complaining, you were hoping he’d ask at some point.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind another drink.”

He tries to hide his surprise at your answer, but after seeing the faint gleam in your eye, his cheek dimples once more.

With a quick gesture of his hand, Marcus whips out his black card and covers the tab, his palm taking its place on our tailbone as you both walk out of the restaurant together. His tinted Escalade rolls onto the street, and he steps to the side to let you in first, closing the door behind him and setting his address as the next destination. Throughout the ride, there is a comfortable distance between you, stuck on opposite ends in the backseat, throwing each other side glances when looking away from the window, a smile here and there. Still, he keeps his hands to himself, thick fingers thrumming on his lap and you hold your bag in yours, the anticipation of seeing where the older man lived incrementing inside you.

Twenty minutes later and a brief dinner recap, he extends his hand to help you out of the car, faintly squeezing your fingers as he does. He remains steadfast in keeping his touch on your lower back as he guides you through the lobby hall, the doorman greeting you both whilst passing him.

Entering the elevator, he taps part of his key on the scanner and presses the PH button at the very top of the selection, what you assume to be the penthouse. He gives you a knowing look, a gleam in his eyes as you’re sent up higher in this modernized building.

Crossing through the hallway that awaits you once the elevator doors open, you are brought to a pair of double doors. Allowing Marcus to formally unlock the door, you step into his space for the first time, and you can’t help the gasp that slips out of you.

Guided through the foyer of his apartment, you find high rise ceilings and earthy tones surrounding you, hints of creams and metallic accents left everywhere to find. The kitchen is fully decked out with modern stainless steel appliances and light wooden cabinets, a marble island taking the empty space in the middle. The open concept layout allows you to see the living room, sunken into the floor at a lower level, spotting a plush dark brown L shaped couch with smaller cream cushions behind a deep wooden coffee table, paired with a twin set of auburn armchairs and an overarching lamp between them. A fireplace is built into the accent wall, a plasma screen TV seamlessly hanging in contrast to the wooden panels that cover that portion of the room.

You can tell there is probably more for you to discover, another hallway that would allow you passage to an office or his bedroom, but that will be left for another day. What really catches your eye is the wall of books to the farthest side of the room, close to the frosted windows and balcony that grant a perfect view of the Chicago Loop area at night. The shelving carries a catered collection of works that were found over the years, and your curiosity piques to see what titles he might have in there.

The space is gorgeous, surprisingly warm and inviting, simultaneously masculine and calming. A harmonization of colors and textiles all in one space. You envy him just a tad for having such a nice apartment, though you might consider this one to be the best interior you’ve seen so far.

“What do you think? Hopefully it’s not too much,” you hear Marcus utter from behind you, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it off to the side. He offers to take off your overcoat, allowing his hands to lightly caress over your shoulders as he tugs the layer off, hanging it next to his. He also grasps the bouquet you’re holding, setting it down on the table closest to the door to grab later on your way out.

“I think you’re a man of fine taste for both exteriors and interiors.” You continue to marvel at your current backdrop. “Did you design all of this too?”

“Partially. Worked with an interior designer to figure out the dimensions of things, what exactly I needed to achieve my vision. But for the most part, the colors, textures and where everything goes was all me. The sunken living room was definitely my idea, did not sit well with the building managers but they came around.”

“I’m amazed you managed to get away with that.”

“You pick up a few things here and there the more you learn about the industry.” He looks at your side profile for a second before he speaks again. “Do you still want that drink?”

“That depends. What do you have?” You turn on your heel to face him, a coy smile on your pretty face.

“Anything really. Wine, whiskey, I can mix a drink for you if you’d prefer that.” For some reason, the potential of seeing Marcus make a drink tugs at your chest. Taking a second to think of a solid option, you settle on a reasonable cocktail.

“You know how to make a whiskey sour?” You watch the way his face quirks up at your choice of drink.

“Sure do. Make yourself at home.”

Marcus wanders off to the kitchen where he has what looks to be a whole bar built into a portion of the sectioned off room. You walk around the space he’s tailored to be his, running your fingertips over the edge of the couch and admiring the paintings hanging on the wall by the bookshelves. Scanning over the varying book titles, you note the multiple accounting and real estate books, some shelves primarily only having that with the rest filled with classics you recall him mentioning to you in passing.

The sound of ice shaking forces your attention back to Marcus whose focus was primarily in making your drink. From the corner of your eye, you see he has his sleeves rolled up his forearm, his bicep flexing as he holds the shaker in his broad hand, moving it with efficiency, a curl falling over his forehead from the effort. You look away when he pops the top off of the shaker, hoping he didn’t see you ogling him longer than you should have.

Playing clueless, your eyes land on a certain part of his book collection, titles relating to history and the world catching your eye, global wars and conquests amongst other things. You were too busy scanning the spines of the different books to notice Marcus observing you as he walked in your direction with a glass in each of his hands. Turning once you feel his presence by your side, you whisper a thank you and take your drink, tentatively sipping through the small straw he offered you, to taste the perfect mix of lime and aged rye.

“How is it? I eased up on the whiskey, figured you wouldn’t want something too strong.”

“You should’ve done bartending instead of real estate. Bet you would be a hit with the ladies, make a hell of a lot of tips.” Marcus chuckles, a pleasant sound that emits through him.

“Guess the mixing classes are paying off.”

A coltish smirk lands on your face in amusement, tilting your head to the bookshelf to grab his attention. “Wouldn’t take you as a history buff.”

“What can I say? I like learning about the world, the past shaping the present and influencing the future. Plus, it keeps me well rounded as one would say, pairs well with traveling.” You hum with a nod, pointing to a specific title you notice.

“SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard. I was obsessed with Ancient Rome when I was a kid, well that and mythology. Sort of ironic considering you’re from there, you’d fit in.”

“It’s a special interest of mine, but I’m curious about the history of the general area, besides what’s been passed down by family members.” He states casually, letting you wander around a bit more before heading to the couch in his living room, his hand instantly holding yours as you step down into the sunken floor along the way.

With every sip of your cocktail, you find yourself more entranced by Marcus, your eyes drawn to the muscles in his arm contracting when he takes a gulp of his whiskey. Time flies by as you converse more with him, the ice melting in your glass as you sit your empty cup on the coffee table. Your heels are now somewhere scattered on the floor, legs folded over one another as you lean into the couch on your side, facing your date. He stays seated on the corner of the couch, body angled towards the fireplace and his legs spread with his hands on his leg as he listens to you talk.

“You never mentioned it, you know, why you’re on the app to begin with. You don’t seem like the kind of man to bother with this whole sort of thing.”

“And why do you think that?” He twists his head to look at you, curious in your reasoning.

“You’re too smart to be bullshitting around with anything, and I think relationships are the same. Something happened along the way, no?”

Ah, there it is, the feared question. Why was he on that app? Originally it was a joke, he wasn’t taking it seriously, and yet here he is, sitting on the couch with someone from a sugar daddy app of all places. He could lie to you, say he just wanted some company for the night just to save his own ass. But one look at your face and he knew the last thing he wanted to do was use the usual facade that fed the void in his chest.

He pauses for a beat before finding his words.

“I was married for a few years. The divorce was finalized a few months ago, but feels like it happened way before that.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus.” Your palm flies to his knee in a supporting pat, the action not lost to him as warmth springs from your touch for a moment before taking it back.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Things just didn’t work out, it wasn’t in the cards.” He fidgets with the ring on his right hand, a nervous tick he’s adopted over time as the air thickens in the room. Moving the spotlight from himself, he flips the question to you. “And what about you? Why were you on the app?”

“Honestly, I forgot I still had an account after doing this a few times, never really worked out in the past. I was about to deactivate my profile when I saw your super like. Didn’t want to pass up the opportunity, so I answered. Besides, I was curious about you.”

“You must’ve had hundreds of profile matches at that point.” You chortle under your breath.

“Oh, please. You open the app and it’s just all up in your face. It’s so…overwhelming. But if it’s any comfort, you were the only account I liked back.”

Marcus’ neck pivots to peer at you, sincere in your confession to him. He fights the urge to have his lips curve upwards, instead he shifts his gaze back down to the floor with a shake of his head.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious,” you jest, straightening your back and jokingly slapping his bicep. “You’re sitting here acting like you didn't have hundreds of likes coming out of the woodworks.”

“Seeing that high number took me off guard, I’m surprised my phone didn’t glitch from it and I was spared from getting a headache. But I didn’t really care much for the rest. I liked your account and turned my phone off, called it a day.”

Your eyes bore on to Marcus’ face, staring at him incredulously. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Lots of beautiful women on there, don’t get me wrong. However, I’m more particular about what I like.” He ogles at you, as if he needed to make it any more obvious he found you attractive. The thought brings heat to your cheeks, the alcohol doing wonders to lower your inhibitions.

Your sight detours to his hand where his thumb runs over the emerald signet ring on his pinkie, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“What’s with the ring?” You jut your chin out to point to the shiny piece of jewelry.

“Family heirloom. Been in my family since my grandfather, went to my father, and now passed down to me. Just something I mess with often.”

“Can I see it?” You move your hand towards him, suggesting that you want to see the emerald piece up close.

Marcus offers you his hand, your fingers grazing his palm as you look at the ring. He tries his best not to think too much about the way your touch feels, how your soft fingers sweep his calloused ones as you examine the way the ring circles around his thick digit, running your thumb over the emerald stone at the center.

To his disbelief, you bring his hand to your cheek, his knuckles caressing over your jaw and ear before guiding it towards your neck. The knuckle of his pointer finger rasps the front of your throat and the divot of your collarbone, your fingers circling his wrist and slowly bringing his touch down the middle of your chest. His heart pounds in his ribs when you drag his hand over your midriff before placing it on your waist, comfortably laying on your hip and he gives you a nervous squeeze.

Swiftly, you shift your position on the couch, bending on your knees to crawl towards his lap. Marcus watches you the entire time, leaning backwards and letting you get situated with zero protest. The end of your dress rides up your thighs slowly, your hands on his chest, sensing the tension radiating off of him in waves. He keeps both of his hands on your waist, his head angled back to hold your gaze, concealing the groan that threatens to escape from feeling your body over his.

“Is this okay?” You ask, seeing him nod. “Marcus…” you entice him with a whisper, leaning towards him, the tips of your noses edging together. “I really want to kiss you.”

Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he gawks at you, slightly tipsy from your earlier drink coursing through your veins. He’s considerate enough to keep his hands on your waist, holding you steady as you stare at him with stars in your vision.

“Can I kiss you? Please?” You press yourself against him, one hand on his chest as your words captivate him. His focus lingers in your hazy eyes, then drifts to your lips, watching how they part subconsciously with every breath. Succumbing to his desires, he nods again, and you tip forward to slot your mouth over his.

It’s the lightest of pecks, brief and sweet enough to not overwhelm either of you, a test of boundaries. You briskly pull away, carefully watching Marcus’ reaction, reading his body language to see whether or not he wants to pause or keep going. He squeezes your waist, and that is all the initiative you need to kiss him again.

With a faint grin, you offer him another peck, then another, and another. After every kiss, the gloss on your lips fades and transfers to his mouth, and by the fourth peck, he pinches your chin and brings you forward to kiss you with more intention. Your body ignites with the prolonged feel of his mouth against yours, the curve in your spine deepens and your hands move on their own.

Marcus lets you lead him into the kiss, following your pace and sighing in content when your fingers thread through the hair on his nape, tugging the strands a little to angle his head differently. A groan rumbles in his chest from your touch, taking advantage of this position and teasing your tongue over his bottom lip, signaling you want to taste more of him.

Granting you passage, his mouth opens to welcome your tongue, curling around his own and keeping your grip on him. Slanting your head to the side to get the right angle, your body inches nearer as your hips press over his. Without much thought, his hands move up your back, the feel of his palms a comfort against your heated skin, trailing lower to cup your ass. The action forces you to gasp, pulling away to find darkened brown eyes staring at you carefully and bringing his hands back to your waist, the start of an apology dying on his lips before you interrupted him. “It’s okay, Marcus. You can touch me.” You coax his hand down to your lower back, fingers intertwined with his and urging him to squeeze your tender flesh. “I want you to touch me.”

He doesn’t need any more convincing, the desire he’s been carrying all night dominates the rest of his self-doubt. Palming your ass with one hand and keeping the other on your side, he swoops in for another passionate kiss, more comfortable in initiating this time around. You simply let him have it, the edge of your dress riding up your thighs as your hips settle over his, the center of you pulsing after another greedy squeeze.

The need for his attention grows more ravenous as you sit prettily over his lap, carding your fingers through his graying strands. Discreetly, your hips hesitantly shift over his hips, feeling the evident bulge developing under your thigh. Marcus bites your bottom lip at your slight movement, pushing his hips closer to yours as his cock hardens in his slacks.

Plucking your lips away from his, you litter kisses over his cheek and the side of his jaw, nipping at the juncture where his jaw meets his neck. He grunts when you finally reach his neck, gliding your tongue over the vein that pulses along with the rest of him. Head thrown back on the edge of the couch, he lets you touch him however you want, kneading your rear with his thick fingers, skimming over more of your bare skin as your dress moves higher up your body.

It all feels too good, the realization of just how touch deprived he is hits him like a ton of bricks. Here you are sitting on his lap, grinding against him in such a way he can feel your heat through his clothes, your scent wafting under his nose with your close proximity. It’s almost too much for him to take.

And he doesn’t want you to stop.

Controlling your movements over him, you adopt a steady rhythm gyrating your body against his thighs, his hands encouraging you with every push and pull. Your panties begin to stick to you, the gluttony enrapturing you growing to new heights as the erection hidden under expensive material twitches the harder you grind. Decorum out of the window, Marcus fantasizes what it must feel like to be between your legs; imagines if you taste just as sweet as you smell, or if your cunt would tighten and clench around him when he brought you to the edge over and over again until the only thing you remembered was his name.

His own imagination paired with your incessant humping forces his body to hit his peak prematurely, shuddering under you with a rasped groan. You’re stunned as his body betrays him, the bump in his pants deflating once the wave of pleasure is done washing over him, his grip tightening around your hips.

The air around you crackles despite the silence, stiff as you observe the man underneath you trying to catch his breath. You can tell he wasn’t expecting this to happen, much less to feel so much he ended up spilling in his briefs from a little bit of kissing and movement. His bearded cheeks are shaded with hints of pink and his eyes distantly off to the side, avoiding your observant gaze.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Marcus starts, the self deprecating thoughts running rampant in his head from his mediocre performance.

He curses himself, thinking he should’ve been better prepared for this, maybe jerked off before the date to begin with in hopes he would last longer. This certainly is a first for him, coming prematurely like a fucking teenager was not something he’s known for, and should be reason enough to bury him six feet under from the embarrassment.

“Don’t be. Honestly, it’s kind of flattering,” you affirm bashfully as the last bits of your arousal settle in your gut. “I think it’s hot.”

“Really?” Marcus flexes his eyebrows, seeking your reassurance.

“Feeling so good you just couldn’t help yourself? It’s sexy. I’ll take it as a compliment,” you express, kissing him sweeter than you had for the past thirty minutes. “I can clean you up if you want…”

Your hushed words make his cock twitch again despite already making a mess in his briefs. His mind is going into overdrive, envisioning you on your knees, pretty mouth wrapped around his length and your manicured nails handling the rest.

Next time.

“No, it’s alright. I’d rather repay the favor.” Sure, it might’ve appeared to be a form of damage control, but the reality is he’s developed a craving that only you could satisfy.

“You don’t have to Marcus, it’s fine really. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not the kind of man to leave a woman unsatisfied. Not in my character.” He kisses you again, reviving the same familiar pulse from between your legs. “Let me make you feel good.”

A whimper threatens to slip past your lips, but you swallow it down. From the way he kissed your lipstick off, you wondered what it would feel like to have his mouth on another part of you, granting you something you desperately needed since getting in the car from the restaurant. Reason had already left your mind a while ago, and your body spoke of your intentions before you confirmed them yourself, muttering an airy okay with a nod.

You barely register how smoothly he maneuvers you, the shift so seamless it feels like second nature. You’re sinking into the couch, your back meeting the plush cushions as he takes control.

Marcus doesn’t rush. He never does. Not in business, not in conversation, and certainly not in bed.

But right now, with you spread out on his couch, looking at him like you’re daring him to take whatever he wants, he feels something hungry unravel inside him.

He moves with intention, mouth against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. Your spine arches, breasts pressed up against his chest, fingers ghosting over his shoulders, clenching when he drags his lips from yours to your jaw, then down your neck.

You smell divine.

He lingers at your neck as he inhales against your skin, your perfume an aphrodisiac that disorients him, fogging his mind. It makes a groan vibrate deep in his chest, the sound sending goosebumps over your skin, your nipples hardening beneath the fabric of your dress.

Marcus cups your tits in his large hands, relishing the weight of them, the way they fill his palms so perfectly. He squeezes, kneading the satin-covered flesh, his thumbs dragging over stiffened peaks.

His deep exhale fans over your plump breasts before he continues downward, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His facial hair grazes your skin, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.

He licks the swells of your chest, teeth nipping at the supple skin, making you yelp playfully and you can feel the small smirk that pulls at his lips before he moves lower, veiled brown eyes flitting up to your flustered face as his tongue mouths your nipple over the dress, biting down on it softly.

“You like that?” He asks, already knowing the damn answer, the satin dampening beneath his tongue as he flicks and sucks at the hardened bud.

“Yes, Marcus…” The breathy sigh of his name is like music to his ears, neck tilting back as your eyes flutter close when he repeats the action on your other breast, kneading its twin in his large hand.

“You are so gorgeous.”

He shifts again, going lower, pushing the skirt of your pretty dress up until it’s bunched at your waist. His palms are warm and firm as he trails kisses above your mound, teasing you with his descent. Your thighs twitch under his touch, anticipation buzzing through you like an electric current.

He spreads your legs wide, pushing them up to your chest and keeping you in the position he wants by pressing his hands to the back of your thighs near where your knees bend.

The sight of your barely covered sex is more erotic than if you had forgone the undergarment all together. Short, dark curls tease him over the flimsy hem of your panties and his cock stirs at the sight despite the mess he’s already made in his slacks.

“She’s real pretty.” His voice drops an octave, the rasp in it making the compliment sound wanton. Your hips move on their own ever so slightly, a natural reaction your pussy is having to his tone, chasing the sound.

Marcus hums, a quiet sound of appreciation, feeding off every little tic of yours. His lips part slightly, tongue rolling over them as his attention remains on your thong.

Thin black lace, skimpy. Practically useless.

His fingers toy with the waistband, slipping beneath it, testing the stretch. Then, with a little too much enthusiasm, he pulls and it gives, the sound of the fabric tearing setting you off even more.

He almost scoffs. The material of it feels expensive beneath his touch yet it rips so easily. He could easily buy you a hundred of these. Better.

Your eyes lazily find his and for a moment, there’s nothing but a silent exchange between you—a subtle tilt of your head, the slight arch of your brow, questioning. Are you really going to do it?

His smirk is slow, knowing. A dimple dents his cheek.

Yes.

And with that, he grips the lace and rips the damn thing off, throwing it over his shoulder. The ruined panties fall onto the coffee table behind him, forgotten.

Now you’re completely bare, the lips of your pussy spread from how he’s got your legs parted, sex aching and glistening beneath the dim opulent lighting. A perfect, needy mess just for him.

The soft trail of hair that leads down to your pretty cunt has Marcus leaning in, nuzzling his strong nose against you, inhaling the musky scent that lingers there, letting it invade his senses and seep into his bloodstream like an intoxicant.

His tongue follows next, broad and slow, dragging up the length of the strip, savoring the contrast of coarse curls against the slick warmth of his mouth. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, earthy and sweet. You let out a drawn out moan, palms sinking into the couch as you attempt to ground yourself amidst the sensation.

“Shit,” the curse word is muttered, barely audible as you feel delirious from feeling him so close to where you need him. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you craved the touch of a man like this, and it doesn’t help that the alcohol you’ve been consuming all night is amplifying your lust.

Your pussy flutters involuntarily, a fresh trickle of sweet arousal slipping lower, trailing down to the curve of your ass.

Marcus is enraptured, taking in your exposed, creamy flesh, how your smell infiltrates his nose and it’s like his eyes gloss over with a carnal desire to devour you, eat you until you’re crying and begging him to stop.

He needs to reel it in, remind himself that it’s only the first night. He can’t overwhelm you too quickly, scare you away before he’s able to show you what he’s truly capable of. Of how good he can actually make you feel.

“So wet,” he mutters as he maps wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers sink into the soft, pliant flesh, squeezing, kneading—reverent in his touch. He drags his lips closer, his breath ghosting over your messy cunt, teasing but never quite giving.

“Hard to hold back when you’re spread out like this,” he murmurs, nosing against the sensitive crease where your thigh meets your core. “But fuck, sweetheart… I don’t think I want to.”

“Didn’t get the impression that you could hold back.” The timbre of your tone makes him pause, pulling away slightly to look at you properly.

“If I really let you have it…you’d already be begging me to let you breathe.”

The glint of amusement that flickers through your gaze is gone in a blink, replaced by unguarded desire.

“I can handle it.”

His smoldering stare rises to meet yours, narrowing just slightly, a silent challenge passing between you. His thumbs press into your skin as if testing the truth of your statement.

You’re bracing yourself beneath his touch, muscles tensing in anticipation, as if proving to him that your words aren’t just bravado. You mean them. You want this. You want him.

Good. He wants you to need this as badly as he does.

The first swipe of his tongue is slow, savoring, as if he’s tasting something forbidden, something he’s been denied for too long. But patience? That doesn’t last. It shatters the second he gets his first real taste, and the groan that rumbles deep in his chest is downright filthy.

Marcus is gone.

He buries himself into your pussy, tongue dragging flat up your slit before going taut and flicking up to your clit, testing what makes you gasp and elicit more of those sweet noises that fill his ears.

“Oh Marcus, just like that.” It’s as if he flips a switch that has your words pouring out. “You’re doing so good.”

Your praise melts into him, impassioning him. He’s been craving this kind of lust for years. It’s been too fucking long since he let himself indulge in his roaring sexual appetite.

He swirls your sensitive nub around with his tongue, sealing his lips around the pert flesh. He suckles on it, making out with your pussy, having you wail out like an aching woman.

Marcus thrives off the way your hips rock toward his mouth, groaning like he’s savoring a meal far more decadent than the dinner from earlier tonight.

Your heady and potent taste drowns his taste buds, clit pulsing against his tongue—all of it is enough to make him lightheaded. His big hands curl around your thighs, pulling you somehow closer, the friction of his nose and beard rubbing against your pussy making you keen and further lose yourself in the pleasure he is giving you.

“Fuck don’t stop, oh my god.” Your sounds turn pornographic, tugging at his hair while your other hand moves up to palm your own breast, the fabric of your dress slipping until your chest is exposed, nipples sensitive to the cool air.

The hand at your left thigh traverses up, nudging your hand out of the way and you let him grab a handful of your tit. The growl he emits vibrates against your sex as his fingers begin to roll and pull at the perky bud.

Marcus’ tongue then slips inside your fluttering entrance, fucking into you as his aquiline nose rubs your slick pearl.

The obscene sounds of his mouth working you over fill the room—sucking, slurping, the guttural groans that rumble from his chest every time he dives back in like he can’t get enough. Because he can’t. He’s drunk on you, addicted after only minutes, and the more you writhe beneath him, the more he loses himself in it.

Marcus. Marcus. Marcus. His name becomes a hymn as your orgasm looms, taunting you, threatening to end this beautiful, salacious act despite you wanting to live in this pocket of pleasure for the rest of the night.

You did not expect him to be this good or fucking eager. Most men treat a woman’s pleasure like an afterthought, something to be checked off a list before they roll over and chase their own release. But not him. He’s eating like he’s never going to get the chance again, showing you with every flick of his tongue, every messy, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt, exactly how much he enjoys this.

Your hand moves on instinct, covering his where it grips your breast, your nails raking over his knuckles and the sleek face of his expensive watch, dragging down until you can feel the veins running beneath his skin. His tongue doesn’t slow, doesn’t falter, even as you babble through a desperate plea.

“I’m right there, mmm don’t stop, please.”

You gyrate against his handsome face, claiming him in the messiest, most unceremonious way, coating his chin, his nose, those full lips that have been driving you insane all night.

He can feel your desperation in how your fingers clench his hair or how your other hand moves to grip the back of the couch, back arching high off the cushions. You’re unraveling for him, and fuck, that just makes him want to push you further.

Marcus doesn’t need his fingers to make you come. Just his mouth. Just his tongue plunging into you, curling, lapping up everything you give him, working you until you’re trembling—until those soft gasps turn into ragged, broken moans.

And when you finally finish, when you sob his name like it’s the only thing you know, Marcus still does not stop.

He takes your orgasm, drinks it down, tongue still lapping at your sex as your thighs snap shut around his head, as if you’re trying to pull him deeper, to keep him there. And he lets you smother him, lets himself drown in you.

It’s overwhelming. Your vision blurs, lashes wet with tears, streaks of mascara and eyeliner running down your cheeks. You’re coming apart under the relentless assault of his mouth again, your second orgasm stretching, rolling, growing into something bigger than yourself.

“I—I—” The words tangle in your throat, lost in the heat of it all, stolen by the wicked, practiced flicks of his wet muscle. When he pulls back, it’s only to drag his tongue over his bottom lip, hollowing his cheeks and spitting filthily onto your throbbing cunt.

“Thought you could handle it?” He taunts before diving back in, both hands returning to keep you firmly against his face.

You can’t think straight, thoughts slipping through your grasp like water. “T-Too much, oh—” you attempt to pull your hips away, body writhing as if you were a possessed woman, the overstimulation of it all feeling like you’re burning from the inside out in the best way possible.

But Marcus keeps you locked down tightly, staring intensely up at you, letting the edges of his teeth graze along your sensitive clit. A white-hot jolt of sensation rockets up your spine and makes you scream so high-pitched, you’re sure the windows of his penthouse rattle from the force of it.

Your back bows violently, stiffening as the pleasure crashes over you, unexpected and devastating. Your release gushes out in a messy, sinful rush, soaking the lower half of his face. Marcus groans deeply, slurping it, shaking his head against your cunt to smear it all over, the primal feel of it all only intensifying with each drop of yours that he tastes.

Only when you finally slump against the couch, spent and trembling, does he ease up, pressing lingering kisses to your clit, enjoying how your pussy twitches from coming so hard. A thin string of your essence clings to his lips as he finally—reluctantly—pulls back, breathing heavily, dragging the back of his hand across his slick beard.

The blissfully wrecked look on your face is one that’s going to be burned into the back of his eyelids for eternity. It’s in this moment; as he takes in your swollen lips, ruined makeup, and your ravished body, that something in him clicks. It makes Marcus recognize that whatever this is sprouting between you two is something he wants to continue to chase.

He flashes you a lopsided smirk, one that deepens when the single curl falls onto his forehead. Kisses are placed on each quivering inner thigh in an attempt to soothe the tremors still running through your body, before he begins his ascent, reversing the path that led him to the heaven between your legs.

The skirt of your dress is smoothed down with careful hands, his large fingers tugging the fabric into place, covering you as if he’s tucking away something precious. Then, with the same tenderness, he draws the neckline back over your chest. But his lips don’t stop their journey. They find your neck, trailing up to your jawline, the corner of your mouth—teasing—before finally claiming your lips.

The smell of your pussy clings to him as he kisses you passionately, making you taste yourself. It makes the kiss filthier, his mouth moving against yours with the same fervor he’d shown between your thighs. You whimper into him, feeling the lazy roll of his tongue as he takes his time with you. Neither of you wants to break the moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, still kneeling between your legs, his hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek before tugging at one of the curls that’s slipped loose from your updo. “Taste so good, too.”

Your smile comes naturally—not coy, not calculated, but soft, bubbling over, breathless. There’s a twinkle in your eyes, and Marcus feels himself get lost in it, entranced by the way you look at him. If this is what he’s rewarded with every time he makes you come, then he’ll gladly do it over and over again.

“Thank you for not holding back,” you finally manage, your voice still wrecked, but carrying that teasing lilt. Your fingers weave into his curls, tugging lightly as you take him in—his dark, blown-out gaze, the shine of your slick still glistening on his beard. “Even if it looked like I was tapping out there for a second. You’ve got real magic in that mouth of yours.”

Marcus huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.” His brown eyes soften while he wipes the streaks of your makeup away with his thumb. You could stay like this all night, just looking, feeling, letting the attraction simmer until it boils over and you’re tangled in his sheets with his name on the tip of your tongue.

But you both know better. This is something to savor and let breathe, allowing chemistry to take the lead.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“More than I anticipated.”

The answer strokes something deep in his chest, an ego he rarely lets get the better of him. But with you? He allows it, just a little.

“I’d like to keep seeing you. If it wasn’t obvious.”

You sigh, still reeling from his ministrations, tilting your head, unable to stop drinking him in. “Same here. You are a very intriguing man, Marcus.”

“And you are a very fascinating woman.” He gently takes the wrist of the hand in his hair, bringing it to his lips, placing a kiss on your palm. It makes your heart stutter. “I’ll call the driver to take you home if you want to go freshen up.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing, “Oh? You’re kicking me out?”

“If you want to stay, be my guest.”

The invitation lingers in the air between you, heavy with temptation. And it is tempting, yet despite the fact that he had his mouth buried between your thighs not even five minutes ago, you don’t want to lay all your cards on the table just yet.

“I’ll get out of your hair. My bed beckons me.”

Marcus stands, offering his hand as he helps you to your feet, pointing you to the direction of the master bathroom. You feel the intensity of his gaze as you walk away, aware of how his eyes track the intentional sway of your hips. You can’t help but smirk.

Only when you disappear behind the door does he exhale, rubbing a hand down his jaw, feeling the sticky remnants of you still clinging to him. He glances at the ruined scrap of lace on the coffee table, sporting a smug smile of his own, grabbing his phone to call the driver.

Once your ride is handled, he moves around the space to gather your things, adjusting himself in his pants, cringing at the reminder of the mess that’s there.

You emerge a few minutes later, face wiped clean, hair slightly more composed yet just as gorgeous, your legs carrying the delicious remnants of euphoria in every shaky step.

“Mailing you my doctor bill if this problem doesn’t go away anytime soon,” you joke, sinking onto the couch to slip your heels back on.

Marcus smirks, shaking his head as he watches you, holding your gathered belongings in his hands. “Think of it as a souvenir. Something to remember me by until we see each other again.”

“Yeah? And when will that be?”

“You tell me.”

You hum, pretending to consider as you rise to your feet, your body brushing just close enough to tempt. “I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”

You reach for the delicate scrap of lace left abandoned on his coffee table. “You owe me a new pair, by the way.”

He chuckles, helping you slip into your jacket, then handing over your things. “That thing was on its last thread. Surprised it didn’t just dissolve off you with how soaked you got it.”

You roll your eyes, biting down on your lip as warmth creeps up your neck at the memory. He watches the way you react, the way your body still responds to him even now, and it only cements his need to see you again.

Guiding you out of the penthouse, he keeps conversation light, the easy chemistry between you both lingering like an unspoken promise. But the moment you step into the lobby, you feel the burn of the doorman’s knowing stare, his amusement barely concealed as he tips his head in greeting.

“Have a good night, miss,” he says, and you fight the urge to duck your head in embarrassment, thanking him quietly.

Outside, the cool Chicago night air wraps around you as a sleek black Escalade idles in the porte-cochère, waiting. Marcus, ever the gentleman, steps ahead to open the car door for you.

You stop just before getting in, looking up at him, your voice soft. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time—you’re great company.”

He grins. “Likewise, beautiful. I’m glad you didn’t deactivate your account when you did.”

Your heart flutters at that, and before you can second-guess it, you lean up on your toes, pressing a series of slow, lingering kisses to his lips. He hums against your mouth, his hand naturally finding its place on your waist, the metal of his ring grazing the fabric of your dress.

“Let me know when you make it home, alright?” he murmurs against your lips.

“I will.”

One last kiss, then you pull away, climbing into the backseat. You share a final, lingering glance through the open door.

“Good night, Marcus.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You smile, and with that, he shuts the door. The SUV pulls away, disappearing into the city streets, swallowed by the skyline. Marcus watches until you’re gone, your touch still burning against his skin, your scent still clinging to his shirt.

He exhales heavily, running his fingers through his hair before turning back toward the building.

“Have a good evening, sir?”

Marcus smirks, the memory of your body, your taste, your voice still fresh in his mind.

“The best I’ve had in a long time.”

662 notes · View notes